


At the Roadhouse

by helena_s_renn, Helenas_bitch, orphan_account



Series: WTF? [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mpreg, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-04-10 12:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4391486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helenas_bitch/pseuds/Helenas_bitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men don't get pregnant, but when Sam does, even he and Dean have to eventually admit that they need help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Dean, stop, I gotta..." Sam choked. Before he'd even finished the sentence, Dean had brought the Impala to a stop. Dean immediately started complaining that at their current rate, thanks to all the emergency braking, they'd be driving on Baby's rims by the time they made it to Harvelle's, but Sam wasn't listening any longer. He kicked the door open and hurled. Not that his stomach had anything in it, but his reflexes didn't care: basically everything set off a vomiting spell these days.

It had started the morning after they'd finished the job in Elko. Just before he'd fallen asleep in Dean's arms, Sam had smiled at the thought of waking with Dean and consummating their love again, heated and hurried at first, followed by a second, slow and languid reunion. Of course, the plan hadn't worked out. Sam had almost gotten used to his frequent bathroom breaks by now, but the next stage of his pregnancy – which he still wasn't convinced of despite his latest symptoms because men didn't get pregnant, right? – was even less appealing. 

He'd already thrown up the day before, but what had looked like an isolated incident at first had developed into a more or less continuous event. Sam's body apparently didn't care that morning sickness implied that the nausea and vomiting occurred in the morning. Also, even assuming he believed in the whole pregnancy thing, he was beyond his first trimester, so he shouldn't feel sick any longer. Again his body flipped him the bird. 

Dean had taken one look at his brother and announced that they would drive directly to the Roadhouse. After a few narrow escapes for the upholstery, Dean had threatened to buy a tarp at the nearest hardware store. The suggestion had made Sam laugh so hard that he'd promptly thrown up again. At that point, Sam had agreed to the tarp – and insisted that Dean buy him a large bucket, too, just in case. The latter had turned out to be a wise decision.

That had been two days ago. The last time Sam had checked, they were about 80 miles from Harvelle's where they hoped Ellen's man Charlie, a doctor, could help them figure out what was happening and how to deal with it. Since then, things had gone downhill so far that Sam couldn't eat any longer, and he could barely keep even water down. He really hoped this was the last time his stomach rebelled before they reached their destination.

Sam spit and wiped his mouth, then heaved himself back into the passenger seat – he was so weak that every move took a major effort by now. His voice was hoarse and raw when he asked, "How far?"

* * *

"Pull. Over," Sam growled through gritted teeth. Baby's brakes squealed, the car door opened almost hard enough to snap the hinges, followed by more puke splatting on the ground, all sounds Dean had become well-acquainted with in the last two days. Two long days of driving, but not near enough progress with frequent stops for puking and pee breaks. 

At first he'd just been annoyed. Waking up hard to fantasies of the intense sex he and Sam had experienced at each other's hands, Dean had been in for an unpleasant reality. Blue balls, yes. There'd been no fooling around, because since they'd awoken post-hunt, Sam had been throwing up his guts. His bladder was on overdrive like before, despite the fact that he couldn't even keep water or Gatorade down. At first Dean couldn't resist some little digs about how all the stopping and starting was wearing the tires down to the rims, of how Sam should just sleep in the tarp with his head in the bucket – both new and necessary items. After more than thirty-six hours of this, Sam's skin was an unhealthy sallow-gray, dark circles ringed his sunken eyes and he looked half-dead. Come to think of it, he wasn't throwing up so much as heaving and gagging. 

Sam dragged himself back into the car and croaked out a question as to how much farther. "Forty-five miles. I can get us there in under half an hour if you can keep from hurling."

That was his only hope, that they would get there soon. After so many years of being on her own, Ellen had found herself a man, one who just happened to be a doctor. Certainly Dean didn't begrudge her a little happiness. She was tough as nails and a decent hunter, and still a fine-looking woman if you liked the square-jawed, glare-to-make-you-wet-yourself type. He didn't know Charlie's – the doctor's – story beyond he wasn't a local and he'd set up a sort of practice in one of the Roadhouse's back rooms. Dean was only too aware Sam would need IV hydration and medicine to settle the nausea, and quickly. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Dean peeled out again, keeping his eyes on the dark horizon. 

* * *

Half an hour until Harvelle's. Half an hour until, hopefully, Ellen's man made an end to the nausea. Sam gritted his teeth. Half an hour felt like an eternity, but his vomiting spells had decreased in frequency during the day – he guessed he had become so dehydrated meanwhile that there simply was nothing to expel any more. "I think I can do it," Sam announced, trying to sound confident.

He could do it, after all. Sam doubted he'd ever felt so relieved as when Dean pulled up on the Roadhouse's makeshift parking lot. His relief doubled when he spotted Jo and a man who wasn't Ash carrying grocery bags on their way to the back entrance. It hadn't occurred to Sam before that their trip might be in vain, but it looked as if they were in luck for once and that the doctor was there.

Pushing the car door open, Sam attempted to stand, but his knees buckled and his vision grayed. "Dean," he croaked, "need a hand here, please."

* * *

After what seemed like a hundred years, they pulled up to the Roadhouse. He pushed Baby as hard as he dared; she'd need some TLC before they went on any more long trips. The knotted tension in Dean's gut untied only slightly, at seeing a man with Jo who he hadn't met before but who clearly belonged there. 

Sam croaked from his side of the car that he needed help, and Dean's thoughts and attention turned to him. Now so weak he couldn't stand up by himself, Sam looped an arm around Dean's neck and leaned on him as they limped inside. Besides being taller than Dean, he wasn't exactly a featherweight, and he was uncoordinated as hell in this state. Getting him through the door without one or both of them tripping over Sam's feet was an accomplishment in itself. Dean took a bead on the room, immediately noticing Ellen behind the bar drawing a beer from the tap. While he didn't care to announce to the sparse crowd that Sam was in bad shape, any idiot could see that. He decided time was of the essence, more than saving face. 

A minute later, Ellen was in front of him, looking from brother to brother and wiping her hands on a white towel. "Sam needs a doctor," Dean announced in a low voice. Having patched up a lot of hunters, that was likely more than obvious to Ellen. "Will your... uh, your man take a look at him?" He didn't want to piss her off; her friend, boyfriend, lover, or whatever helping Sam was crucial. 'Man' should cover that and anything from employee to husband.

* * *

Ellen hardly looked up when the door opened. However, the sudden silence in the room made her head jerk up from the tap: with a bar filled with hunters you just never knew. She needn't have worried. Sam and Dean Winchester were (a) – although disputed by some – on the good side and (b) in their current state even a comatose Ash could have knocked them over. Sam's problem was as physical as Dean's wasn't. Dean announcing that Sam needed a doctor was the understatement of the millennium but Ellen decided to spare him an according comment: the older brother looked ready to drop from worry.

She smiled grimly and – hopefully – reassuringly at her new guests. "Sure. Charlie will appreciate being relieved of pushing beer kegs around and won't fight you to treat a patient. You can take his place in the cellar," she told Dean. Aware of the co-dependent relationship between the Winchesters, she assumed it would be best to get Dean out of the way or there wouldn't be any treatment for Sam with his brother questioning Charlie's every move. 

"Leave Sam with me," Ellen pointed to an armchair right next to the bar. Such a piece of furniture looked odd and out of place here, but she'd come to value it since more and more injured hunters tended to visit the Roadhouse for a medical consult, and not all of them were in a shape that permitted them to walk any further. "Then go get Charlie. Just follow Jo's hollering, that's where you'll find him."

* * *

The last thing Dean wanted to do was leave Sam, but one didn't really argue with Ellen if they valued keeping their gonads intact. Not dropping Sam was next on his list. Dean got his brother lowered into the armchair – an odd item to park in the middle of a bar – and squatted down to let Sam know he would be gone only long enough to bring a doctor back with him. Whether Sam understood or not was debatable; his eyes were less than half-mast and stoned-looking, and his head lolled to the side. Aware of the eyes of the other hunters on his back, Dean made no outward sign of affection other than to squeeze Sam's lax arm briefly, then he pushed himself to his feet. 

When she'd told him to follow Jo's hollering, Ellen hadn't been kidding. Dean always sort of cringed when he saw Jo and today was no exception. He hadn't treated her well, and he knew it, but they'd never worked out. It had always been the wrong time. At the moment, she was at the back of the storeroom, lowering a box of bottles through a trapdoor in the floor. Bent over like that, he saw her long, hanging blond hair and a full-on view of her ass. And yes, she was yelling at whoever was below to "put that good whiskey behind the rotgut!" Thinking herself alone in the room, she grumbled to herself, "Newbie!"

Dean cleared his throat and Jo whipped herself upright, barely missing a shelf level with her head. "Oh. It's you," she stated flatly, turning pink.

On a less stressful day, Dean might have flirted, but not today, for many reasons. "Need to see this Charlie, the doctor. It's urgent... it's Sam," he said by way of both apology and explanation. 

Jo waved him toward the open trapdoor, where Dean swung himself down on his arms and dropped to the floor. The middle-aged man standing not quite upright in the low-ceilinged root cellar startled but didn't drop the bottles he was handling. Above them, Jo called out, "Charlie, it's the famous Dean Winchester. You're a lucky man: he neeeeds you." Dean could hear the sarcastic sneer in her voice but couldn't do much about it but roll his eyes and stick out his hand. 

* * *

From the day Charlie had first set foot in the Roadhouse, Jo had ragged on him. He'd considered a whole bunch of reasons why she resented him, the favorite being that he was trying to replace her father, which wasn't the case, of course. Neither did he attempt to steal her mother's love, but eventually he'd developed the theory that she needed an outlet and he was just the next best person to vent on. Occasionally, Jo ranted to him about Ellen not letting her go hunting, so Charlie thought she couldn't hate him too much. He knew he needn't fear having his throat cut during his sleep, nor would she send him to the nuthouse, a major improvement over some of the people he'd lived and worked with in Toronto.

Currently, Jo's verbal attacks had changed from making acid remarks about his sensitive surgeon's fingers to his inability to understand the cryptic system she used to store the booze. In the secrecy of their bedroom, Ellen had admitted that even she didn't understand the way her daughter organized the cellar, but Ellen was wise enough to not admit this out loud in Jo's presence. The main thing was that it worked, there was never a shortage of food and drinks, nor of the medical supplies they'd started ordering – or stealing most likely; Charlie didn't want to know – since more and more hunters casually asked for a consult after a few beers.

When Jo called down to him that Dean Winchester needed his advice, his first response wasn't surprise at having a potential patient asking for him but curiosity. Winchester was a name that was, if mentioned at all, only whispered with sentiments that ranged between awe and admiration from some to pure hatred from others. When Charlie had asked Ellen about it, she'd shrugged, then calmly told him that the late John Winchester had been hunting with her husband when the latter had been killed. She'd admitted to resenting every Winchester for years, but since nobody really knew what happened and she'd come to respect the Winchester brothers she'd made her peace with them. Jo, on the other hand, had turned beet red with something Charlie couldn't quite interpret, but he'd refrained from asking her again because he didn't want to risk her stroking out.

Ash eventually had lifted the veil of the Winchester family enigma. It was a grisly tale, and he was beginning to understand why some hunters suggested on a regular basis that hunting down the Winchesters would not be the worst thing to do. What Charlie found most intriguing, though, was that Ash told him with a smirk that Jo had a serious crush on the older brother, Dean, who according to Ellen was a serious womanizer. Charlie wasn't exactly keen on ever witnessing a stand-off between Ellen in mother-hen mode and Winchester. Now that Dean had suddenly appeared next to him and offered his hand, Charlie didn't quite know how to react.

He set the crate of rotgut down and cautiously reached for the extended hand, hoping that Winchester wouldn't feel the need to establish his alpha male status by crushing his fingers. Charlie had a firm grip himself, but he needed said fingers to help Dean's brother – at least he assumed it; what with the occupational risk of hunting, his consults were almost exclusively trauma cases. 

Apparently, Dean Winchester was bright enough to appreciate that a surgeon may have delicate hands. A good-looking man who must be in his thirties, he looked older, tense and nervous, and clearly worried for his brother.

Charlie nodded toward the steep stair. "After you." Dean didn't linger but led the way back to the bar, where Charlie assumed Sam was. However, then they arrived, Dean stared at the – empty – armchair that usually held his patients. Ellen wasn't there either, which meant that she'd probably brought Sam to the room in the back that he used as a surgery.

All color had drained from Dean's face and the best Charlie could think of was pushing the man into the chair. "Wait here, I'll go find Ellen. She's with your brother, I assume."

* * *

Whatever was wrong with Sam, it had to be bad. Intent on locating the doctor on the premises, Dean barely glanced Jo's way. She'd braced herself for some sexist or downright insulting comment, which is what she should have expected after being bent over right in front of him, but none was forthcoming. Instead, Dean swung down into the cellar as if he owned the place. Cursing herself for seeing anything in the hunter, anything at all past the swagger and those full, sensual lips and long eyelashes and his ass and shoulders and... god, his scent... somewhere under all that cockiness – don't go there, she warned herself – was a good man who hadn't yet found what he was looking for. She wished it was her. 

Clearly, it wasn't. The line of bullshit Dean had fed her both directly and indirectly via his brother's mocking lips said she'd ever only be like a little sister to him. Which was more bullshit. Jo had seen the one-way eye-fucking and lovesick gazes each had gifted to his equally oblivious brother. She didn't know whether to bring popcorn and candy or a barf bag. 

Best to make herself scare for a few minutes. No doubt the restrooms needed cleaning. They always did. The prospect struck her as slightly more pleasant than being in the same room as either Winchester.

* * *

Charlie – the doctor – was quick to catch on. He set down his bottles, shook Dean's hand by way of greeting and motioned for them to return immediately to the barroom. Once there, though, instead of Sam's long, sprawling limbs overflowing the chair, the recliner was now vacant and Sam was nowhere to be seen. Furthermore, Dean picked up a whiff of the acrid tang of bile. Sam must have been sick again. A spot or two of suspicious fluid on the floor confirmed it, although since there wasn't a bigger mess, he deduced someone must have reached Sam with a bucket in time. About to start bellowing for his brother, Dean found himself swaying a little on his feet, disoriented as if he were rolling drunk, then abruptly seated in the same chair. 

When Charlie announced that he would go find Ellen – who was also missing, Dean realized – and Sam, Dean protested and made to stand up. "I'm coming, too. He's my responsibility." Not just Sam either, but Dean could hardly announce such a thing in present company. Panic gave him the burst of energy he needed...

And then he was on his butt again, pushed more deeply into the padded if somewhat lopsided old chair. Glaring upwards, Dean growled, "What the fuck...!?" In five seconds he was going to... no, he couldn't whip the doctor's ass – he was needed, like, yesterday. "Let me up." 

* * *

The light in the bar was too dim to spot the sudden change in Sam's facial color from white to green but Ellen was sure it was there. It was almost comical to see Sam's widening eyes before he leaned forward and heaved into the bucket she'd immediately pushed between his feet. The patrons knew to avert their eyes – some of them had already been in the same position and not a few of the ones who hadn't yet sat in the chair would eventually find themselves there – and Ellen decided to have mercy on both her customers and Sam.

It must have been a funny sight when when she dragged the boy's ass to the back room where Charlie had set up a makeshift clinic. Sam had a foot on her in size, but he could barely stand without her support. While he was hanging on to her shoulder, Ellen push-pulled him forward, stage-whispering "Left foot, good, now the right one..." in his ear. He got the message and they eventually reached their destination, but as soon as she helped him down on the exam table he promptly started vomiting again. This time, she didn't have a bucket ready but the floor had seen much worse. Over the past, Ellen had lost track of how much ecto she'd mopped up, and a puddle of puke wouldn't kill her, especially when it was mostly bile and nothing solid in it anyway. A few months back, she may have waited for Charlie so the color and consistency of the vile stuff could help him diagnose, but he'd meanwhile learned to rely on her descriptions. So what if so-called normal people would find it gross, hunters had different standards.

Sam shivered and Ellen threw a blanket over him, then took his pulse. For a moment, she considered asking what was wrong with him but the boy looked so exhausted that she decided to interrogate Dean later – who, surprisingly enough hadn't turned up and wasn't beside her, yelling at her to help Sammy. Yet. It could only be a matter of seconds.

* * *

As soon as Dean Winchester's ass plonked down on the chair, the man bounced up again and wobbled. Shaking his head, Charlie sighed. He didn't even have to push Dean down again when the man's knees decided the situation for him.

"Listen," Charlie said, "nobody's watching you. It's an unspoken law in this house that the chair and anyone in it is invisible. I want you to breathe calmly and count to ten, then I'll take you to your brother. The alternative is that I carry you there and I have a feeling that's not what you want."

* * *

This guy was getting on Dean's last nerve now, talking to him as if he was six years old. Yet Dean decided to at least marginally cooperate, or be barred from where ever they'd stashed Sam. He glared again, making it clear he was _not_ counting out loud like some kid in the time-out chair, and then stared straight ahead. Calming his breathing, Dean leaned back and relaxed his hands upon the chair arms. House rules or not, he was sure everyone in the place was watching him, surreptitiously or otherwise. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of his humiliation. 

Sure he'd been there for at least two minutes, Dean glanced up at Charlie, raising an eyebrow in query. Sam needed his attention, that was why they'd come! Couldn't this supposed doctor understand that? 

* * *

Dean looked murderous but he stayed put. Charlie suppressed a smirk. If the rage helped Dean get over his momentary weakness, he'd done the right thing. As a doctor, he had to do the best for his patients, not make their relatives love him. While Dean made an effort to control his breathing, Charlie's eyes roamed the room and stared down the only individual who dared to watch. He'd make sure that Ellen found out about this guy daring to disobey her iron rule. Charlie almost pitied the poor bastard, but only almost.

When he looked back at Dean, the older Winchester brother was rising to his feet. Tempted to whisper 'good boy', he refrained from it. Even though Dean must know that a surgeon with a broken jaw wouldn't be very inclined to help Sam, Charlie wasn't sure if the man's brain or fist was faster.

"Ellen would have let me know if immediate action was required," he explained as he led Dean to the back rooms. Sam was lying on an exam bench covered with a blanket. Charlie didn't have to pinch his skin to recognize a case of severe dehydration. The distinct odor of vomit supported the diagnosis but not the cause. The Winchesters had a tough reputation and wouldn't have driven half across the country for a simple stomach bug. Besides, this had gone on for some time by the looks of it and if it was a bug, Dean would either be hugging the toilet together with Sam or he had an even more iron constitution than any hunter Charlie had ever met.

"Okay, Sam," Charlie introduced himself, "My name is Charlie Harris and I'm a doctor. I need to ask you a few questions, but let's get some fluids into you first. Since your stomach probably won't like that, I'll hook you up to an IV."

Sam gave a feeble nod and Charlie decide to address Dean with his questions rather than the barely conscious younger brother. He took a PVC from a drawer and slid it into Sam's vein, satisfied that even in his current state Sam had a suitable vein, then connected a banana bag and adjusted the flow before looking at Dean. "Okay, let's start with these. How long has the vomiting been going on? Does it come with diarrhea? Any other symptoms like headache or confusion? Have you been around sick people lately? Any specific monsters? Is there anything else you think could help me help Sam?"

* * *

Leave it to Ellen to determine if Sam needed 'immediate attention'? Dean didn't think much of that idea. Ellen herself wasn't there in the room they used for a clinic. A lingering smell of sick was, and Dean wrinkled his nose before backing off. On the table, Sam looked as small as a 6'5" guy could, and didn't speak or flinch when Charlie approached, or when he stuck a needle in him to hook up an IV. Then what seemed like a barrage of questions flew Dean's way. If Sam was too out of it to answer... that wasn't good to say the least. 

"It's been non-stop for almost 36 hours. Well, OK, about every 15, 20 minutes on average, a little less when he's sleeping. Puking, I mean, no... er, nothing else." If Sam's condition had also made him explode from the other end, too, Dean didn't think he could've handled it, tarp or no tarp. "He can't keep anything down, even water. Before that, he had, let's see, two days where he puked in the morning but seemed fine after." 

Right now, he was so damned tired he couldn't decide if he should tell the Doc about the supposed pregnancy or not. Dean had convinced himself on the long drive that it had been a dream or part of the whole weird, sexed-up Elko experience. "He's sweaty and hot but that might be from all the puking... same for his pulse running fast. He says his nipples are sore."

Realizing what had just come out of his mouth, Dean clammed up and backed away further. Dammit, what did that have to do with heaving one's guts anyway? Thank whoever that Jo hadn't been around to hear him say that. 

* * *

Charlie listened while continuing assessing Sam's condition. Like Dean said, the younger brother was sweaty but his skin felt cool and clammy rather than hot, which must have been why Ellen had brought the blanket. Hot and cold sweats suggested a fever and the racing pulse supported it, but something else was wrong here, and it could be serious. A pituitary tumor could explain the nausea and vomiting as well as what Dean had described as sore nipples. He'd check Sam's chest in a minute, but for now there were other, more important things to do. After injecting an anti-emetic, Charlie checked Sam's eyes with a pen light, which earned him a groan from Sam and a normal pupillary response. It was good sign, but didn't help much by way of diagnosis. Since Sam was still out of it, Charlie addressed Dean again.

"Have you noticed that he needs to urinate more than normal? What about headaches? And I know this must be uncomfortable for you, but would you happen to know if he experienced recent changes in sexual function?"

* * *

Was this guy reading Dean's mind now? He felt his face begin to flush at the images Charlie was unwittingly calling forth. The John Winchester School of Field Surgery hadn't prepared him to know if this line of questioning followed medical protocol or if the other man was just trying to get a rise out of him. Some of it sounded logical. "He's had to pee every ten minutes for like, weeks. I'm exaggerating but it's... frequent. Every hour or so? Really gets old, on the road." 

It bothered Dean that he'd backed down twice now in front of this man, first in the bar and just now, upon seeing Sam's deathly pallor. He'd promised to stay with him, be there for him, love him. Dean could do that now, when Sam needed him most, even if they never touched each other again. He straightened his posture, moved closer and looked Charlie in the eye. "Forgot to tell you... we just came from a case. We were in a hospital in fact, posing as CDC to access medical records. Our patients didn't have anything contagious. The thing we were hunting was demonic; we think a hybrid incubus/succubus. It had been messing with people in their sleep, in dreams. Long story short, we ganked it. Or, Sam did. And yeah, his libido's been on red alert. In hindsight, it seemed like the whole town was like that. He – Sam – got really, um... needy."

Just that was difficult enough to relay to a stranger. Yet Dean could recognize that was better than having to tell it to someone they knew well, Bobby for instance. The unwanted blush had spread to his chest and ears. Dean could have gone a lot farther about all the sex, but Charlie hadn't asked for details. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked, "What do you think's wrong with him?"

* * *

"I'm not sure," Charlie admitted. "The extreme nausea and vomiting combined with what you described as sore nipples could point at a problem in Sam's brain, with or close to his pituitary gland. If something's wrong with that it can manifest with a lot of symptoms like headaches, nausea, frequent urination, vision problems, sexual dysfunction. Regarding the latter, you say he got needy, which isn't the type of dysfunction that's usually observed with pituitary problems, but considering that you said the whole town where you last stayed was oversexed..." He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy.

"I can treat his symptoms for now but I strongly suggest getting a closer look at his brain. I'm talking about an MRI. Not something you get without health insurance, but there's a doctor I trust at Sioux Falls General. However," Charlie braced himself. Dean wouldn't like this. "Thing is, I can arrange for the MRI but you have to swear to leave the guy alone." Dean's glare promised Charlie a short lifespan if he continued to stall.

"He's a vampire."

* * *

"Seriously? Are you shitting me? And you didn't kill it?!" Dean gawped, ignoring everything but the word 'vampire'. Fine, so Charlie wasn't a hunter but he had chosen to live among them. Any hunter worth his or her salt should have taken that thing out long ago. "So it's hiding in plain sight, sitting on its own personal blood bank," he sneered. "We're both O-positive, by the way, no rare vintages here. Let me guess, it doesn't eat red meat. I have just the _stake_ for it." 

He wondered if Ellen was in on this little secret. Surely she wouldn't sanction one of the undead living within two hundred miles. Jo would be eager to hunt it, and Ellen would be the same overprotective lioness as ever. The fact that both of them were still alive and presumably getting along meant neither knew. How could such a creature get through med school? Easy answer for that, its credentials were fake. All the more reason not to allow it anywhere near Sam.

Just then Sam's body heaved like he was going to be sick again. Dean was at his side instantly. This time, no one stopped him. Glassy-eyed and barely conscious, Sam didn't actually puke, which was a small miracle considering the last two days. Dean slid his arm under his brother's shoulders and held on to him, his own awkward position be damned. "So whatever was in that shot won't fix him?" he asked, already knowing the answer. 

If Sam did get an MRI, it would need to be lower than his head to properly diagnose him. Dean didn't even know why he was repressing needed information. Perhaps a primitive manner of testing the man, to see if he was worthy of being trusted with Sam's care. "I can pay. For the tests," Dean told him. "But no vampires. And... you need to look lower. Sam saw a urologist in Elko..." Once again he shut up and looked away, self-preservation mode warring with the burning need to have his brother treated... if there was any treatment for him at all.

* * *

" _He_ has been a vegan for more about 300 years," Charlie explained. "He found out that vampires can survive on a no-blood diet and over the centuries he's taught it to many others. The reason hunters don't know about these _people_ is because they don't harm anyone." It wouldn't impress Dean – the day a hunter with a reputation like Dean would listen to reason was far away in time – but he needed to say it anyway.

"It looks as if my friend will be spared the _pleasure_ of examining your brother, though. At least for now," Charlie prompted. If the urination problems had been going on for weeks, it made sense that Sam had seen a urologist, at least from a non-hunter's point of view, and Dean had just implied that a cause had been recognized by the doctor, one that Dean obviously didn't want to reveal. On the other hand, the vomiting had started later, so a neurological insult wasn't off the table yet either.

"Dean," Charlie said sharply. It looked as if the only way to get the information was going to be by establishing himself as the dominant man here. He hated this 'game', but if it was the only choice to help his patient, he'd play along for now. 

"Dean," he repeated. "What did the urologist find?"

* * *

"A 300-plus-year-old bloodsucker," emphasis on 'blood', "has a valid medical license, huh? Listen to me, we've dealt with vampires before. Most of them that aren't 100 percent evil bitches from the get-go try to go cold turkey, or they attempt to get by only eating cows, chickens, frogs, what have you. None of them last forever. None. They either fall off the wagon, or they're so miserable they almost ask to be ganked." Past scenes featuring Gordon Walker and the vampire Lenore came to mind. There'd been plenty of others. "For vamps, that's beheading, by the way. Staking only slows them down. Works on zombies and miscellaneous demigods, though." Charlie didn't interrupt his rant, which was a surprise. The look on his face suggested he'd heard the same before. 

Once again, Dean had almost missed the doctor's next – logical – question. "Dr. Creepy from Elko," he didn't bother explaining the reference, "did an ultrasound, said there was a 'growth' but he didn't know what it was. We hacked into the hospital files but Sam's and my skills don't include Radiologist, and the report wasn't online yet when we checked – it could be now. Just looked like a blob." Again, Dean withheld that the 'growth' probably had a heartbeat by now.

* * *

Charlie listened to Dean's tirade, then shrugged. "Yes, I'm aware that vampires can only be killed by beheading." He didn't point out that it was Carlisle – Dr. Cullen – himself who'd told him this when he'd begged Charlie to kill him. The part about 'asking to be ganked' Dean had right, but for completely different reasons than Dean assumed. However, that was something else the hunter wouldn't be interested it. 

It didn't fit into Dean's world that a vampire could be a good person. On another level, Charlie could relate to Dean's reluctance to trust a vampire: he didn't like every patient, to the point where he'd admitted to thinking that the world would be better off if he'd made a mistake here and then, but unlike hunters, who didn't have a Hippocratic oath to follow, Charlie was bound by a different set of ethical rules. It was ironic, to say the least, that Carlisle, the vampire, was probably more compassionate than Charlie and Dean put together.

"So Dr. Creepy found something on the ultrasound but didn't tell you what it is and the reading wasn't online when you left," Charlie summarized. He wasn't surprised that a urologist, who was possibly an andrologist as well, would creep Dean out. "Assuming that you saved the access codes, I'd suggest one of us check again later. If there's still no reading, my skills include Radiologist," he smiled briefly. "As for now, I'd rather perform an ultrasound myself."

Charlie's smile widened. The ultrasound was one of his latest acquisitions, together with an X-ray machine. They hadn't exactly come from legal sources, but since the hunters who'd 'found' them assured him that these came from a place that could afford misplacing them, Charlie didn't lose sleep over a guilty conscience. The machines helped him save lives, period.

"Before that, I'd like to take a look at your brother's chest, though," Charlie announced. Sam had whimpered once but hadn't puked again. Currently, Dean held him in his arms. It was a weird picture. If asked for a first impression of Dean, Charlie would be torn between boisterous and mother-henning – or both simultaneously. The man was an enigma, but he was clearly worried about his younger brother. Considering Sam's symptoms and that there apparently was a growth in his groin region, Charlie was worried, too, but he wasn't going to tell that to Dean. Years of practice had taught him to project confidence, and given the glare he now earned from Dean, Charlie was glad about that.

"Could you push his shirt up, please? This will only take a minute."

* * *

The anti-undead speech didn't change Charlie's mindset. He also seemed to know how to kill the things. With a shrug, he went back to the matter at hand, repeating what Dean had told him about the unclear findings from Elko, then asking to look at Sam's chest. Here, Dean met with another dilemma. Of course, a doctor would need to examine Sam. It could have been worse than asking to see Sam's chest – it was sure to get worse. But now, a wave of possessive jealousy rolled over Dean. He didn't want anyone looking at Sam, touching him, not even an apparently straight male Doc who lived with a woman who'd probably tear his junk off if his eyes wandered, let alone any other body part. 

Well, he'd asked for help. Drove hundreds of miles for help. Dean had to allow it, or leave and possibly let Sam die. That thought was unbearable. Snarling, "That's what I just said, isn't it?" Dean shifted around so he could pull Sam's shirts up. He couldn't do it one-handed, too many layers with buttons. Laying his brother down gently, he unbuttoned the top flannel, opened it, and pushed Sam's thin white tee up to his armpits, revealing the washboard abs and defined chest tipped with nipples he knew to be darker than normal and pulled tight. For a moment, Sam seemed to understand what was happening, but then his eyes went all unfocused again. 

Dean stepped aside but kept one hand on Sam's flank, so he'd know he was there. "Alright, Doc. Anything else?" 

* * *

Dean was more than reluctant to comply with Charlie's instruction to push Sam's shirt up. Protective instincts toward a younger sibling he'd been conditioned to defend from early childhood on were one thing, but Dean's behavior suggested it was more than that. Another idea sprang to Charlie's mind that could explain Sam's symptoms as well as Dean's obvious unwillingness to let Charlie perform an exam: Sam could have been sexually assaulted. To a man like Dean, this would be the ultimate insult to his brother – and his ultimate failure in protecting him. Traumatic and post-traumatic stress could lead to nausea and sexual dysfunction of all kinds, including the heightened sensitivity of Sam's nipples. However, it did not fit a potential growth in Sam's abdomen.

Charlie had time to think this through while Dean made up his mind about exposing Sam's chest, which he finally did. Well-developed pectorals spoke of a life of hard training. Several scars were visible, most of them suggesting that the wounds that had caused them had been treated if not with professional care then by someone who knew what he was doing. Charlie had seen much worse. He'd compliment Dean – who must have been the one responsible – on this later, but for now his attention was drawn to Sam's nipples. 

Dean hadn't exaggerated when he'd said that Sam had complained about them being sore. The areola were dark and swollen, as were the tips. It wasn't the first time Charlie had seen this in a man, but the other – male; in a female, Charlie would have suggested a pregnancy test – patient with this symptom had been undergoing hormone treatment before gender reassignment surgery. 

Sighing, Charlie thought that he'd rather tickle a dragon's tail, but the swelling and discoloration could indicate breast cancer. It was rare in a male, and unlikely to occur on both sides simultaneously, but he needed to check the surrounding tissues for lumps. That Dean wouldn't like it was a given; still, there was no alternative.

"I need to conduct a palpation exam," Charlie announced. Dean's frown deepened but he didn't react right away, which was very likely going to change as soon as Charlie touched Sam. It couldn't be helped, though. Charlie placed his hands on Sam's chest and pressed down lightly on the flesh surrounding the dark, distended nubs. Sam made an unhappy sound but didn't open his eyes. The muscle under his fingers was firm and smooth, which left the nipples themselves. Although Charlie gave them only a very careful squeeze – he needed to check for discharge – Sam groaned as even the gentle touch seemed to be very painful. 

From that moment on, things happened very fast. Before Charlie could even begin to explain to Dean that there was likely some kind of inflammation of the enlarged mammary glands, he was facing the reaction he'd expected from Dean when he'd declared that he needed to closer examine Sam's chest.

* * *

'Palpation.' Dean knew what that meant: Sam was about to get felt up. "Go on, then." Giving his permission at least showed the other man this was voluntary, as well as that Dean spoke for Sam when Sam couldn't, for himself. It took a stern internal message to Dean's instincts to move his hands away. Even so, he gripped the edge of the worn orange-and-brown flannel nearest him and held on. 

Gritting his teeth, Dean kept his growling silenced while the doctor passed his fingers studiously over Sam's chest. Checking for lumps, Dean supposed. If Sam were more conscious, he wouldn't like that all – any time he'd perceived any designation of him as 'the woman' in their relationship, he got angry.

Charlie's examination was also visual. The perusal could be of Sam's impressive physique, or his collection of scars, which on a non-hunter would be suspicious, or other medical tells Dean wasn't aware of. For being a back room of a bar, it was surprisingly noiseless – the only sounds were of the three men breathing and faint rustling of clothes whenever one of them moved. Just as he started to relax a little, Charlie squeezed one then the other of Sam's swollen, over-sensitized nipples and his brother _moaned_. It could have been pain, surprise, maybe annoyance, but the only times Dean had heard that sound before in relation to Sam's nipples being touched, it had been sexual. 

He saw red. His boots thumping the wooden floor as he changed stance, Dean stood at his full height, bristling like an angry badger, one fist cocked. John had taught them well – either of the Winchesters could take a man out with one blow. About to throw a mean an upper-cut, Dean caught himself in time, but he was still livid. "Dude! What the fuck do you think you're doing... milking him?!" he sputtered. "In case you didn't notice, his name ain't Bossy, Daisy, or Buttercup!" Alarm flashed across Charlie's face before he composed his professional facade. 

* * *

It took only a few seconds until Dean got himself under control again but it was long enough for Charlie to be sure that he never wanted to be the man's adversary.

"I'm sorry to have caused your brother pain," he said, "but I assure you that it was necessary. An inflammation of the glandular tissue can lead to pain and swelling. The good news is that there seems to be no discharge as in pus or blood and the skin doesn't feel hot." He raised his eyebrows when Dean coughed but went on when the hunter didn't say anything. "So I'd say that the swelling and sensitivity isn't caused by an infection. On the flip side, I probably needn't tell you that this non-diagnosis doesn't get us any closer to finding out what's wrong with him."

Charlie hesitated, convinced that Dean wouldn't like his next suggestion. "I already said that I'd like to perform an ultrasound to see what the urologist found. I also want to run a blood panel to check for hormonal imbalances." He didn't explicitly state that he was concerned about Sam's sexual hormone levels, but Dean wasn't an idiot. 

"I'm not sure what to expect, really," Charlie explained. "The sore nipples point toward a rise in female hormones whereas sexual needs are more typical for too much testosterone." The expression on Dean's face suggested that such a thing as having too much testosterone wasn't possible for a man but Charlie didn't comment. Besides, maybe he was completely misreading the hunter and Dean was simply considering where to hide Charlie's corpse once Sam was fixed.

Time to take the bull by its horns. "Where would you like me to begin?" Charlie asked. "The ultrasound or the blood tests?"

* * *

After the adrenaline surge came the shakes. Dean broke out in flop sweat, jittery and distracted. So Charlie thought Sam's hormone levels might be off? That was putting it mildly, which he'd find out soon enough. Dean couldn't begin to vocalize how his brother might register off the charts with both male and female hormones, but he knew it to be true. The pheromones, the rampant sex, both of them still horny even after being past able to get it up or shoot, but managing it again anyway... Sam's cravings and morning sickness... he'd been fooling himself to think it had been imaginary. 

"Go ahead. Blood work first," Dean decided finally. Needles were no fun, and hence, no chance of mistaking pain for something else. Despite the knee-jerk reactions to anyone touching Sam, Dean was self-aware enough to anticipate it could very well happen again when it came time to take his brother's pants off. Too much testosterone was kind of an oxymoron in Dean's opinion, unless the man in question was hairier than a baboon. He didn't like to admit they'd both had moments lately when they'd been more irritable than could be explained by the usual job stresses and 24/7 living together situation. 

"Need me to do anything...?" Not sure exactly what might be, Dean waved a hand vaguely over Sam, who was still totally out of it, not unconscious, per se, but unresponsive. That worried Dean a lot. With the IV giving him fluids plus the shot, which he assumed was for nausea, shouldn't Sam be better soon? "How long till he wakes up?" 

* * *

Dean opted for the blood draw first. Charlie nodded and picked the according test tubes from a drawer. It would give Dean a few more minutes to settle for the idea of having his brother's groin exposed. It was moving how much Dean fought to protect Sam's dignity, but from a medical perspective, there was no choice but to perform the exam.

"All I need you to do is try and relax," Charlie told Dean. "Being upset won't help Sam but you know that," he smiled weakly, not sure if he worried man would appreciate the humor. "As for when he wakes up, let's leave that to Sam. Think about it, he's been vomiting more or less constantly for the past 36 hours. That's a combination of lack of sleep, fluid loss, muscle spasm. If anyone deserves to sleep, it's Sam – and you, of course. That kind of sickness is exhausting and that's why he was out the moment the anti-emetic – anti-nausea drip – I gave him started working."

Sam had good veins and Charlie drew blood at the first attempt. Even earlier, when the dehydration had been more severe, putting in the catheter hadn't been a problem. He took his samples and sealed the small containers into a bag, wondering if he could convince Jo to bring them to Sioux Falls hospital later. Sending Dean wasn't an option because the hunter would likely attempt to find and kill Dr. Cullen.

He opened the door to a closet and pulled out the ultrasound machine. "As to what caused the vomiting, let's find out." Charlie hesitated, this was going to be touchy. "Will you push his pants and underwear down or would you rather have me do it?"

* * *

"I know he won't be fine in ten minutes. I just thought..." Dean shook his head. He really didn't know what he'd thought. Besides, he'd been awake as long as Sam, his head was killing him all of a sudden and he hadn't even been the one puking his way across four states. "Never mind." 

Once he'd tapped one of the many raised veins on Sam's forearms, Charlie quickly filled several vials with blood. Maybe it was Dean's imagination or the lighting, but it seemed thicker and darker than normal, a deep almost-maroon. Before he could ask, the doctor set the vials in a tray, labeled them, and set them aside. Then he wheeled out a boxy machine with a screen that swiveled, various buttons, a keyboard, and an attached... something that looked like a flattened mic on a long cord. A transducer, Dean recalled from some long-distant memory of high school health class, for the ultrasound. It was confirmed by Charlie asking Dean to undress Sam further, unless he preferred Charlie to.

He didn't. Pressing his lips together to keep from barking any more profanity, he stepped sideways and unbuckled Sam's belt. It just seemed wrong, disrobing his lover with another person in the room. Dean reminded himself that if Sam was hurt in some other manner such as a deep cut needing stitches or a broken bone and otherwise unconscious, he'd be doing this same thing, alone. There'd been many, many times either brother had been the only medical care provider available for the other. 

He continued; be damned if Dean would show more than he already had, with near-violence, how much this bothered him. Sam's typical baggy jeans were looser than ever on him, and the button popped with no effort. After unzipping the heavy denim fly, Dean worked the jeans down over Sam's hips to his thighs, deciding to keep the boxer briefs covering his genitals till the very last second, if it was necessary he be exposed at all. He still pushed Sam's underwear down some, just till he could see where his happy trail widened out into his pubes. 

Though he could think of no way to explain possessing such knowledge other than the cold truth, Dean knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with Sam's junk that any human eye or hand would detect. "Sam said the other Doc found the growth near his bladder," he told Charlie, who had turned on the ultrasound machine's power and was now brandishing the transducer in one hand and a bottle of clear gel in the other. 

* * *

While Dean exposed Sam's abdomen, Charlie made a point of not watching as he set up the machine. A quick glance showed him that Dean had pushed Sam's boxer briefs down but not off, and Charlie nodded toward the older brother. "That's enough." _For now._

Sam's state was a puzzle. Charlie had no clue as to what was wrong with him, a fact that wouldn't go down well with Dean. His initial suspicion that this could be a neurological issue didn't fit with the growth Dean had mentioned. He briefly wondered if Sam was suffering from a particularly painful bladder infection that might have spread to his kidneys and severe pain could lead to vomiting. On the other hand, if that was the case, Dean would have told him. Besides, if Sam were in agony, he wouldn't have conked out the second the nausea stopped.

What Charlie didn't tell Dean – yet – was that if whatever was troubling Sam was a bladder issue, he'd need to perform a digital rectal exam. In a male, a cystitis often involved the prostate gland, and the only way of diagnosing the prostate was by palpation and/or transrectal ultrasound. No, he wasn't looking forward to elaborating for Dean. In fact, maybe such a suggestion had led to labeling the urologist Sam had consulted as 'Dr. Creepy.' In any event, Charlie would start by imaging the suprapubic region. Everything that was possibly called for after that, he pushed far from his thoughts for the moment. 

"Sam, I'm going to examine your abdomen," Charlie announced. There was no reaction, but he preferred to give fair warning after startling Sam with the chest exam earlier. "This is going to feel cold," he explained as he squeezed a blob of the watery gel on the area below Sam's navel.

Sam flinched and squirmed a little as if to move away from the sudden cold, but he didn't open his eyes.

Charlie mused whether he should suggest to Dean that Dean could hold Sam's hand but decided against it. He still wasn't sure exactly what kind of relationship the brothers shared and didn't want to upset Dean. Sometimes, he'd heard Jo mumbling things like 'sexually co-dependent' when the Winchesters had been mentioned, and that was a hornet's nest he wasn't going to stick his nose in. Sam and Dean would leave eventually, but Charlie intended to stay with Ellen and that included Jo – never mind that the rebelling daughter fought her mother tooth and claw about going hunting. There was no question as to which of the women would lose this particular fight and the option of having Jo as his enemy over Dean wasn't appealing.

He waited another few seconds and got no further reaction from Sam. Switching on the transducer, Charlie ran it smoothly over Sam's lower belly. He spotted the anomaly instantly. Whatever he may have expected, though, it wasn't what he saw now. Charlie blinked and switched frequency. The image looked different now, but it still displayed what couldn't be. Not in a male, anyway. Unless... 

There was no way he was getting out of this without a broken nose at least.

"Dean," Charlie began carefully, "has your brother ever been diagnosed with an intersex condition?"

* * *

Dean found it odd that Charlie addressed Sam before starting the ultrasound. ER doctors did that, but he'd expected in this casual of a setting, for such an unnecessary step as speaking to unconscious patients to be bypassed. As predicted, Sam didn't respond, though he did moan in a complaining way when a blob of the cold gel landed on his belly. 

Standing like he wanted to remain as far from Dean as possible, Charlie began, pushing the transducer around while checking the screen. After a minute his brow furrowed. He made some adjustments to the machine and repeated his last scanning motion. Time slowed to a crawl. A look of carefully-guarded disbelief on his face, he spit out a word Dean hadn't encountered in his life. "What? No!" Immediately he was on the defensive again. "Are you saying he's a freak?!" His face got all hot again and his nostrils flared.

Charlie looked like he wanted to cringe or put a lot more distance between them, but he bravely held his position. A glance at the screen showed an unmistakable tiny form. Yep, he'd found what Dean supposed he'd – they'd – meant him to. Didn't make answering any easier. 

"Dude, you haven't seen his junk, but he's definitely a man," Dean continued, his words speeding from his mouth. "However it had happened, it was the trickster. Or the witches. Or the incu-succu-thing they apparently conjured. Not... Sam." Having no idea if the doctor's Roadhouse version of continuing education included hunter lore, Dean harrumphed, "We don't know how. We just know that... that... happened." He sighed, rubbed his eyes and steeled himself for whatever judgment was coming down. "You might as well know: It's mine. Ours. You gotta help him..." 

* * *

Charlie didn't get his nose broken although Dean was obviously not pleased with the question. He refrained from replying to the 'freak' suggestion although this could only be explained as a freak of nature. However, when Dean elaborated, Charlie changed his mind: it looked as if it wasn't a freak of nature but a freak of supernature. And Dean had clearly had more than a hint of an idea of what was wrong with Sam. 

For a moment, Charlie was annoyed. During his time at Hope Zion hospital, he'd dealt with more than his share of patients reluctant to cooperate with the doctors, for example those with diffuse abdominal pains that after an exam showed utter surprise as to how their cell phone, banana, or even rolled-up newspaper had managed to find its way up their rectum.

After a moment's consideration, Charlie decided that this was a different situation and he didn't blame Dean for holding back on information that would have landed him in the locked ward with every other doctor he'd have mentioned it to. In the face of the whole, the fact that Dean admitted to being the – father? – didn't carry much weight, except that it confirmed Jo's assumption about the Winchesters 'doing each other'.

What was of concern now was less how it had happened. Dean had indicated a number of possibilities and Charlie knew they'd be explored later. For the moment, however, they had to find out more about Sam's condition and make him comfortable until they could come up with a strategy for handling the situation.

Dean was still watching him with an anxious expression on his face when Charlie spoke again. "Well, this was obviously not what I expected to see, but now that we know what we're dealing with, we can help him. First of all, there's no need for intervention this very minute. Pregnancy in a male isn't natural and thus most bets are off about how it will go, but unless proven otherwise, I'm counting on nine months for the fetus to mature. I'd estimate that he's three months along. Do you have any means of knowing when... it... happened?"

* * *

Perhaps the determination that Sam didn't need 'intervention' in the next five minutes was meant to reassure him. This had to be what it felt like for animals and monsters that got cornered. Dean wanted so badly to just punch the well-meaning doctor in the face, tell him to fuck off, and get the hell out of there. But he couldn't. Sam's life and health depended on it. 

"Good guess," Dean told the ceiling. "It happened three months ago. Probably the trickster, who we've since learned is an archangel. He's messed with us before, and he's powerful. For one night – part of a night – Sam got turned into a chick." Dean coughed. A six-foot, formidable, gorgeous... "I mean, a woman." Truth had never sounded so insane. "Hand to god," Dean added. Since Charlie hadn't mistaken the growth for anything but what it was, and Dean had named himself the father, Dean left it to Sam's happenstance attending to figure out how 'it' had been made. But it shouldn't have been possible. 

"I used a condom!" he burst out. "I'm not stupid. It didn't break or anything but... this happened anyway. We didn't even suspect till a few days ago. How could we have?" The average female of reproductive age would suspect pregnancy given symptoms like morning sickness, food cravings, and sore nipples. The most obvious sign, skipping the 'monthly visitor' as one of Dean's lays had once put it, was one they never had to deal with. He'd occasionally wondered how female hunters dealt with... that. With some kinds of cases it wouldn't matter. Many creatures, though, had senses – including olfactory – far greater than humans where the smell would be a dead give-away. Somehow he doubted it was wise to hunt vampires around that time. 

Shit, his mind was wandering. Looking at Charlie again, Dean found he was petting Sam's hair. He blushed, then figured in the scope of him screwing his brother, the gesture didn't matter much. "'Fetus'," he repeated. Such a cold, clinical word. "Does it look... normal? Can you tell if it's a boy or girl?" 

* * *

The way Dean emphasized that he'd used a condom could indicate that he was feeling somehow guilty for his brother's state. Charlie needed Dean to understand that it wasn't Dean's fault. If anyone – make that any _thing_ – was to blame, it was the supernatural creature that had arranged Sam's... transformation.

"Dean, I don't believe that something that had the power to change Sam into a woman cares much about you wearing a condom. Maybe getting Sam pregnant was its purpose, whatever or whoever did this. That you used a condom is still good because it considerably reduces the potential risk of an STD, assuming of course that your brother was equally responsible. The less complications we may face here, the better." Charlie smiled.

"As for the fetus, it looks perfectly normal and healthy to me. He or she doesn't want me to look at their genitals, so I cannot tell you its sex yet – but although the sex determination by ultrasound at about twelve weeks is possible it isn't too reliable, so I suggest we try again at a later date." 

Charlie was going to suggest that Sam not be too far from medical aid at any time during this pregnancy and that regular exams including ultrasound imaging studies should be part of his care, but this was something he'd discuss with the brothers later. To his knowledge, there was only one doctor who'd ever dealt with a supernatural pregnancy, and getting Dean to trust that particular doctor wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

"Let's listen to your baby's heart," Charlie announced and reached for his stethoscope after switching the ultrasound off, wishing for the first time that the machine was advanced enough to have Doppler technique. He found the heart beating at a rate of 153 BPM, which he wrote down. "A baby's pulse is much faster than an adult's, and it sounds fine to me. Maybe you'd like to listen for yourself?"

He held the chestpiece in position on Sam's belly and offered the steth to Dean. 

* * *

"Uh..." Dean wanted to refuse. He still didn't want this to be real no matter how many signs there were to the contrary, and did he really want to get attached to the little parasite that was already jeopardizing Sam's life? Still, with the doctor looking at him expectantly and holding out the earpieces to the stethoscope, Dean reluctantly complied. He stuck the rubbery buds in his ears. At first he heard nothing, then sort of rushing, 'whoosh' sounds. Then something else, much faster, ticking along, faint but distinct. For a heart that was probably the size of a pea, it certainly made itself heard. 

Maybe he was supposed to be having a revelation, but Dean felt nothing. Numbness. After a few more seconds, he handed the stethoscope pieces back. "We talked about it – he says he won't get rid of it." Not knowing Charlie's position on such matters, he went on, "and I'll support his decision. We're probably going to need to hang around here... till it's born." At that point, Dean felt like laughing hysterically. Born. How? Sam hadn't possessed the equipment for that since the night of the... conception. "How can it live? I mean, a woman has a built-in incubator, right? But he doesn't. Or does he?" Now he understood why Charlie had asked about intersex traits. 

* * *

"To be honest, I don't know," Charlie admitted. "Some tissue showed on the ultrasound. It isn't a uterus but apparently it's able to sustain the baby. The heartbeat sounds healthy and I can't see anything out of the ordinary in the fetus." It went without saying that the whole situation was anything but ordinary.

"If this trickster let the pregnancy happen in the first place, I like to think that he also made sure that the child can be carried to term. That would include providing for Sam's body. As for giving birth, a C-section shouldn't pose a problem, in particular since we have time to watch and plan."

Charlie checked that the IV had almost run through, then he turned to Dean again.

"There are a lot of things to be considered in the near future. For the moment, I think what Sam needs most is rest. The vomiting has stopped, so the medication is working. Just in case you're wondering, the drug I gave him is safe during pregnancy. Now, Sam is sleeping and I suggest you get some rest, too. The last 36 hours of driving and taking care of your brother shouldn't be underestimated. Oh, I know hunters are tough," Charlie allowed himself a weak smile, "but you also know to catch sleep whenever the opportunity occurs."

* * *

Just hearing that he must be tired had a soporific effect on Dean. He yawned, immediately, wide enough to crack his jaw. "Uh-huh. Does Ellen have any rooms available?" he asked when he could speak. "I can't even..." couldn't think or talk, or barely stay upright. "Someone's gonna have to help me with him," and he nodded at Sam's utterly still figure. Sometimes, when he was sleeping or out cold, Dean still saw the small boy his brother had once been: shaggy hair, smooth brow, cheeks still round with youth, always in hand-me-down clothes. Before Charlie could see the moisture gathered in the corners of his eyes, Dean turned away.

* * *

Unseen from the trapdoor entrance or the steep stairs that led down from it, the cellar storeroom made an "L" shape around the back of their ancient furnace. No one ever went back there. Even now, Jo didn't know what half the junk in the boxes on the dusty shelves even was. The far corner lay directly beneath the room her mom's new man Charlie had commandeered as his clinic. Jo had been peripherally aware of this for some time, had heard voices and groans and even screams all muted by the thick floorboards floating down on occasion. One day, on a whim, she'd drilled a hole below where the exam table was set. Never had she wished so much that she'd followed through on her plan to rig some sort of hidden camera through the wood as today. With Sam half-dead and violently ill, from what Jo had gathered, and Dean predictably beside himself over it, she could taste how badly she wanted to be in on the doctor's diagnosis. 

Crawling up the sturdy shelves, Jo listened closely with her ear almost to the ceiling/floor. At first, all she heard were back-and-forth murmurs about how long Sam had been sick, what else was wrong with him – routine questions she'd nearly memorized from when she'd assisted with other hunters – and scuffling feet, then Charlie rolled something heavy across the floor that Jo knew to be his recently procured ultrasound machine. A grateful near-amputee had filched it as payment for saving his leg. The man would walk with a limp for the rest of his life, but he would in fact walk. 

The questions were typical; Dean's answers were anything but, and Jo could tell he was hedging. Apparently Sam's symptoms modeled your average knocked up chick's, Jo nearly snorted in derision both that Dean didn't see that, and that Sam would be afflicted in such a manner. Dean seemed to be hinting that the cause was supernatural. Then she nearly fell off the shelf laughing when Dean got all defensive and protective over his brother's modesty. While, true, they were usually covered in layers of denim and plaid, Dean had no shame about showing himself off when he wanted to and she doubted Sam was much different.

Once Charlie fired up the ultrasound, the room above Jo's head went deadly quiet. Maybe, she thought, it was cancer, an advanced case. Or appendicitis too far gone to save him, though the symptoms didn't exactly match. The words, "fetus" and "three months" made their way through the old planks, followed by Dean declaring himself the father. What the fuck? Did they have a girl with them she hadn't noticed? 

Blinding jealousy washed over Jo; she was shaking. Before she totally lost her grip, she climbed down from the shelves. No, she didn't personally want to be knocked up with Dean Winchester's baby or to raise his kid. She wanted to hunt. And she wanted _him._ If Jo were being honest with herself, she would have to confess she'd settle for Sam, in which case, they could commiserate while they fucked.

But then, she knew. There was no woman up there. She'd been right all along. There'd be no having either one of them because they had, in fact, been doing each other. Hell, the first time she'd met them it had been obvious. Touchy-feely, almost always within arm's reach of each other, Sam forever watchful of his brother, love-sick eyes following his every move... If they hadn't yet then, they'd since lowered their inhibitions. It made sense, in a sick way. When they weren't possessed, dead or hating each other's guts, they were always together, and Sam clearly wanted it. And now, Dean had impregnated his brother. Wasn't that just great? 

Years before, Jo had dragged a couple of spare pallets down there which she kept rolled up under the bottom shelf. A girl had to have a back-up plan, for the rare occasion some half-decent piece of meat wandered in and she could dodge her mom log enough to tear off a piece. Still none to too steady after the news, Jo dragged the thin mattresses out and around the corner of the L. Thanks to the age of the building, there was no light bulb back there – a person would need a flashlight to spot her. Screw her mom and her boyfriend and especially the Winchesters. Jo flopped down. Let them clean up the mess – both the Roadhouse barroom and kitchen, and Sam's predicament – themselves. 

* * *

"We have a room," Charlie confirmed. A few minutes ago he may have been uncomfortable offering the brothers a room with one bed to share, but that would no longer be a problem. If Dean preferred individual beds, there was always Ash's room with a single and a couch – the geek had vanished to attend a 'black hat conference', something Charlie was sure he was better off not knowing the details of – but Charlie doubted that Dean would be separated from Sam.

"I'll go let Ellen and Jo know that we have guests staying overnight. For now, if that's alright with you, I'll tell them that Sam's suffering from a particularly nasty case of bad shrimp. Nothing contagious but explaining his symptoms. Meanwhile you could try and wake him up. He should be feeling better now." 

Dean had indicated that he and Sam might stay at the Roadhouse until Sam delivered. They'd have to discuss this later. It wasn't that Charlie didn't want them to stay – Sam would need medical attention and Charlie was one of two doctors he knew of that wouldn't consider a pregnant man a guinea pig, so the Roadhouse was probably a good place for him. On the other hand, the place was frequented by hunters who'd eventually sniff out that there was something weird going on with the Winchester brothers. Sam and Dean had enough of a reputation as far as Charlie knew, and there'd be more than one suspicious colleague who'd decide to kill the unnatural baby first and ask questions later. Or not ask questions at all. It was a risk they couldn't take, but the decision could wait. First and foremost, Sam and Dean needed to rest.

* * *

Dean nodded that he'd try to wake Sam up now, the same gesture acknowledging what Charlie told him about a room being available for them. Regardless of what any of them would think, he hoped it contained a bed big enough for both of them. "Sammy..." He bent down close to Sam's face and shook his shoulder very gently. His brother tried to shrug him off, pure reflex. "Sam, wake up," Dean said, a little louder. "They have a bed where you can sleep as long as you want. Gotta get you there..." 

When Sam didn't flail with all four limbs or flip him off, but also didn't wake up, Dean huffed in frustration. "C'mon, bro... do I gotta carry you?" The only way he could manage Sam's dead weight in his own exhausted state would be a fireman's carry, and that wasn't going to feel good on Sam's sore belly. "Sam," he tried again. "You gotta walk. Just a few steps and then you can rest. It's that or you're gonna have my shoulder in your guts." A 'few' steps might be relative, but it sounded better that way. 

* * *

Sam didn't know where he was, nor did he care: hearing Dean speaking to him was enough to make him feel safe. He frowned a few times when he was prodded but there was always Dean's hand and voice, so he let himself return to the warm cocoon of his – not dreams, just a state where he felt nice, warm, and sheltered.

When Dean told him to wake up, Sam didn't want to. He let out a small whine and hoped that his brother would let him sleep. Instead, Dean shook him a little harder and promised that there was a bed waiting for him. It sounded nice but why couldn't he just stay where he was? 

Finally, Dean threatened to carry him over his shoulder. Sam still didn't understand why they had to leave, but having, as Dean had announced, his brother's shoulder in his guts, made him open his eyes.

"'M tired, De," he whined. "Why do I have to get up?" Realizing that he sounded like a petulant child, he sighed. "Sorry, man. We're at Harvelle's, right?" The last thing he remembered was asking for Dean's help to get out of the car to the bar, then Ellen pushing a bucket between his legs when the next round of puking had started. Everything after that was fuzzy, to say the least.

"So what's happening?"

* * *

"We're gonna stay at the Roadhouse tonight, that's what's happening. Charlie – the doctor – did an ultrasound while you were out and... he knows." Dean sighed, and squeezed Sam's upper arm in what he hoped was reassurance. "He stuck an IV in you with a med to make you stop puking. Seems to have worked for now." All bets were off in the morning most likely, but Dean didn't want to think about it yet. "They have a room for us. We should get there." 

* * *

From her hiding spot, Jo heard her mom's boots thumping around overheard, across the floor and back again. She couldn't actually hear it, but the hairs on the backs of her arms and neck raised... she could sense, if not hear, Ellen's impatient, "Joanna Beth Harvelle!" and some invictive to get her ass up there now. It could be her own conscience, as well. What a messed-up state of affairs that her sense of duty's voice was her mother's! Though Jo had never met John Winchester, she was convinced he and Ellen had at least two things in common, one being that ever-present pig-headed, "I am right, and you're going to ______ _right now._

Flopping over to her side, Jo tried to imagine what it would mean if Charlie's diagnosis was correct, as at least two of the men upstairs had confirmed, Sam apparently not able to put in his two cents for the time being. No hunter in their right mind would want the media circus such a thing would draw, not if they wanted to live to hunt another day. Well, they could just stay away, and then Ellen would have significantly less income, and Jo by extension. 

Yeah, she could predict this. The brothers would be nearby, maybe even living here, for the next five or six months, tromping around underfoot, shooting off their smart-ass know-it-all mouths, oozing pheromones and eye-fucking each other. Basically, being Winchesters. Wonderful. Whatever room they were assigned, Jo wasn't doing their housekeeping. What she would do: rig a nice high-tech peep-hole. Ash wasn't the only one with sources. Fine, her main source was Ash, but he wouldn't miss a few odds and ends. Whatever those two did in their room, she would take the entertainment value as compensation. If she couldn't have Dean, the distinct viewing pleasure of him taking Sam's no-doubt ginormous schlong between his plush lips or buttcheeks would give her no end of glee, and if she played her cards right, blackmail material to last for years. 

* * *

"Uh-huh," Sam nodded. He wasn't throwing up any longer. Dean was here. They had a room. Everything was taken care of, he decided, so he could go back to sleep... They had a room... No, wait... There was something Dean wanted him to do... Oh right, he needed to get up...

* * *

Charlie had found Ellen and let her know that the Winchesters were staying 'for a few days.' As expected, she wasn't surprised. During the year Charlie had been living with her he'd learned her uncanny ability to read people. He supposed it was a required talent given that she ran the Roadhouse, the main hunters' hub within the next 500 or so miles. It also proved to be extremely helpful when he had to deal with the injured: where Charlie diagnosed by medical knowledge and experience, Ellen supported him with her sharp instincts. The combination had probably saved at least a handful of lives – not that Charlie's skills lacked in any way but they didn't include the supernatural.

In this case, Sam being pregnant, however, Charlie doubted that even Ellen could have come up with the correct diagnosis. For the moment, it didn't matter, though: Sam and Dean needed to rest, everything else could be – and would be – discussed later. Right now, Ellen was more concerned that Jo had disappeared. The girl wasn't needed for chores right now, but Ellen suspected that the vanishing act had to do with Dean's arrival. Charlie was aware of the role John Winchester had played in the demise of Ellen's husband and how she was anything but amused that her only child was infatuated with the man's son – especially the son who had built up quite a reputation as a womanizer. Charlie could relate to the concern and he wished he could tell Ellen that the only person Dean would ever love was Sam, but he'd promised to Dean to keep the brothers' secret and he considered himself bound by that promise.

When he returned to his clinic, Sam was sitting on the exam table, dangling his feet. "Good to see you up," Charlie greeted him. "Let me show you where you can stay for the time being. D'you need a hand?" 

* * *

Sam bit his lip. So this was Ellen's partner, and he knew about him and Dean. He didn't doubt for a second that coming here and seeking out Charlie was the right thing to do but it didn't make the situation any less awkward. 

"Thank you," he said, "for everything. I think I'm good, though." If his knees still felt weak, he knew that Dean wouldn't leave his side and would catch him if he fell. Oh, he'd never hear the end about it, but that was who they were. "Let's go."

* * *

"I've got him," Dean confirmed. He braced himself under Sam's arm, ready to support and steady his brother whenever he found the strength to move. Really, he'd had enough of anyone else in their collective personal space for the moment, though Dean was more than grateful that Charlie had taken Sam on as a patient and had barely raised an eyebrow over his findings. 

At a slight nod from Sam to indicate he'd try to walk now, Dean got him levered mostly upright. Sam seemed to be moving in slow-motion, understandable but Dean just wanted to get to the nearest bed. "Lead the way," he said to Charlie, who'd waited for them in the doorway. The hallway suddenly seemed too narrow, the ceiling too low, the lights too dim. Dean struggled to keep himself together and moving forward, step by step over the worn floorboards. Arm slung over his shoulders, Sam was a heavy, clumsy, too-warm weight, one that smelled like stale sweat and vomit instead of his usual lust-inciting musk. 

"Uh... hey," Dean called ahead to Charlie, who had stopped at a door a few yards ahead, "it would be a good idea if you bring a bucket for him, just in case." 

Their room was decent, with a queen-sized bed and even its own bathroom, which Dean didn't expect. They must have been granted the honeymoon suite, if such a version existed in backwoods hunter hide-aways. They'd quite obviously already consummated the... relationship, but besides the two of them, only Charlie knew that. Dean wanted to snort for all kinds of reasons, another of which was that the room was blessedly free of the nightmarish "cheap motel" decor they'd grown accustomed to over the years. 

Lurching through the door, they made it another ten feet to the bed where Dean plunked Sam down, then knelt to remove his shoes. Charlie still lingered, which was making Dean twitchy. "Yeah, I know we look like hell and we stink." Hell, he was too tired to smirk. "At least there's no ecto." Sam had already slumped over on his side with his legs curled up. "'Night... talk t'mrrow..." Dean closed the door in Charlie's face. He'd already told him he could pay the doctor fees. Ellen would know they were good for it, for the cash, anyway. There were going to be some strange days ahead. 

After some tugging and swearing, Dean got the tartan quilt, blanket and sheet out from under his brother's mostly unconscious form, then over him. He dropped all of his own clothes and accouterments but his boxers in ten seconds flat and crawled under the covers. The ever-present furnace-heat Sam exuded rolled over him, maybe through him, and he was out.

* * *

The way to the bed was endless – miles instead of the few steps Dean had promised – but eventually, Sam sank down on a mattress. Something messed around with his feet – oh, Dean was taking his shoes off. He grunted a response that didn't really sound like the thank you it was supposed to be but Sam was sure Dean caught the meaning. Then the bed shook under him. He was pushed around and whined with displeasure. Finally, Dean stretched out next to him. A second later, sleep hit him like a black curtain.

* * *

Charlie chuckled when Dean asked him for a bucket and only a second later shut the door in his face. His experience said that the bucket wouldn't be needed and even if it was, there was a solid trash can in the room that would have to do. As for Dean's comment or apology that they stank, if the topic ever came up again, Charlie could share stories about himself reeking after twelve-hour surgeries or emergency response work, for example the day when they'd spent half a day with a victim trapped in a sewer...

With the Winchesters taken care of and Ellen in the bar, Charlie turned toward the cellar again where he expected Jo to be lying in wait preparing to yell at him for not finishing shelving the latest whiskey delivery. Some – most – of his former colleagues would have balked at the odd jobs he was doing alternating with working as a doctor, but Charlie liked his new life.

* * *

Eventually, three sets of footsteps left the clinic room, one mostly dragging, and clomped across the ceiling – the hall for them – to the best room in the place. Jo wondered what they'd done to merit that. Huh. Either they were flush with cash or Sam was really bad off. If she expected her mother to come stomping down the stairs yelling for her in a whirlwind of impatience and annoyance, Jo had been wrong. Maybe the bar had slowed down for the night, though that would be unusually unusual as they often did the most business between about 2:00 AM and dawn. The arrival of the Winchesters could have something to do with it – Jo wouldn't doubt it. Other hunters tended to keep their distance from the brothers.

Instead of Ellen, when the trapdoor opened again, it was Charlie who stepped down. It was easy to tell the difference between him and Ellen, by gait and simply the way he moved. Jo liked to give him crap over his protectiveness of his hands – surgeon's hands, he'd said once. Most surgery here involved stitching wounds sustained hunting, setting bones, and the like. Once in a while someone would get dragged in with a live-threatening condition, but that was a rarity. Jo never asked how he intended to keep his skills sharp or indeed, if he still had a medical license, not that people around here cared as long as he could fix them up and keep his mouth shut. His 'associate' at Sioux Falls General was another story. So far, Jo was ambivalent about a non-blood-drinking bloodsucker that Charlie trusted. She wasn't supposed to know about Cullen, but guess what. She could do more than hone her knives or her dart-throwing technique and sling drinks. 

It seemed like Charlie had returned to finish his earlier chore of shelving the latest shipment of liquor. She'd taken care of most of it, but was a nice change to have someone else to split the work. She just hoped he'd make it quick, so she could have a few more minutes of peace.

* * *

Jo was nowhere to be seen but Charlie wasn't worried: he assumed that she was hiding out in her secret place. Soon after he'd moved in with Ellen, he'd searched the cellar for furniture to set up his improvised surgery. Among other things, he'd found a mattress seemingly stashed without purpose under a bunch of shelves, but it had been cleaner than anything else down there. He'd left it where he'd discovered it and had observed Jo retreating to the cellar now and then. He hadn't shared his discovery with Ellen, nor with Jo, and he'd only reveal it in a real case of emergency – like the fire that had destroyed the old Roadhouse. No, everybody deserved a hiding place and Jo's secret was safe with him. He finished clearing up the supplies and went upstairs again to see if Ellen needed more help, then, hopefully, go to bed soon.

* * *

The first thing Sam noticed when he opened his eyes was that he wasn't about to throw up his guts. The second was that he'd piss the bed unless he found a toilet or another suitable container within the next thirty seconds. The room was dark but a small sliver of light came through a door that led – to his utter relief – to a bathroom. As soon as he'd emptied his bladder, Sam bent over the sink and drank his fill of tap water. A new toothbrush and fresh towels were placed next to the sink and he yearned for a shower but that would wake up Dean, so he only brushed his teeth before returning to the bed.

While he'd been gone, Dean had rolled over into the warm space Sam had left behind. Now that Sam wanted to get back under the covers, he felt torn between sleeping on the floor so as to not wake his brother and curling up against him and disturbing Dean's sleep. Dean looked exhausted and so peaceful that it made Sam's heart heavy with the intensity of his emotions. He knelt next to the bed and stroked the soft, sweat-matted hair before kissing Dean's stubbly cheek and whispering, "I love you."

* * *

Something stroked his face; Dean's sleeping mind must have registered the presence as safe as he didn't wake. From a muzzy dark, warm cocoon, Sam told him he loved him, affection and much deeper feeling all evident in just those three words. "L'v y'toooo," Dean mumbled. His eyelid cracked open to the narrowest slit possible. The room contained virtually no light, yet he registered that Sam was on the floor. 

"What're ya doin' down there? Get back in bed." Realizing then that he'd rolled into Sam's spot, Dean wiggled back to his side. He held up the corner of the blanket, all he had the energy for. "C'mon... 'ts still night."

* * *

"Uh-huh," Sam whispered as he slipped under the covers again and curled up against Dean. "Thanks for bringing me here. And for letting me sleep..." He yawned widely and nuzzled Dean's neck, then he was out like a light.

* * *

Dean was having a good dream. A very good dream. A very _pleasurable_ , loving dream. Sam was spread out on his back below Dean, head tossed back, hair in a dark halo around his ecstatic, love-drunk features while Dean rocked the bed with steady thrusts deep into him. Their hands clasped on the bed, Dean whispered, "Love you, Sammy... love you, only you," and rutted inside his brother, who, beyond speaking, flicked adoring eyes at Dean to spur him on. He could sense that Sam was about to come – his lips, nipples and cockhead were all red and swollen and he groaned like foundations being twisted in an earthquake.

Just on the cusp of letting go, himself, Dean jerked out of REM. Shaking, hard as granite, balls exquisitely full and aching to unload, he tried to quiet his trembling body – Sam needed his rest. His brother's peaceful, sleeping face pushed into his neck. Still, with a will of their own, his hips inched toward Sam's, seeking friction and greater warmth. Would Sam want him now that they were far away from Elko and its resident sex demon? Dean sure as hell wasn't ready to give that up, but they'd had no opportunity to talk about or, much less act on it, since leaving. 

Either way, if he didn't move, or likewise if he DID move, he was going to come in his boxers or on Sam, something. He should just dash to the bathroom and take care of it. Hadn't they spent their teens dealing with constant raging hormones in a similar fashion? But he didn't want to move! It was sooooo warm, Sam felt perfect against him, and maybe Dean should just take care of it here...

* * *

Deeply asleep, Sam's instincts still roused him: Dean was moaning. Sam's hand flew under the pillow – and found nothing there. Before he could begin to wonder where his knife had gone, Dean moaned again and then suddenly stilled. More awake now, Sam recognized that the moan hadn't been one of pain or fear, but one of pleasure. He grinned to himself: whenever Dean didn't get laid on a regular basis, he tended to have wet dreams, a fact that Sam had secretly enjoyed for many years. 

The reason why Dean hadn't gotten laid lately was that he was with Sam now and Sam had been too sick these past few days. Now that they'd arrived at the Roadhouse and Doc Charlie had medicated him, Sam was still tired but no longer nauseous. Instead, he was sharing a warm bed with his brother, who'd just woken up hard and needy – which Sam could tell although Dean was apparently trying to not act on his desires, to let Sam sleep.

Okay, so if Dean thought he was still asleep, Sam would let his brother believe that. He let out a snuffling sound and moved closer against Dean – if that was even possible – and made sure to sling his thigh over Dean's unmistakable erection, rubbing against the heat and hardness as he pretended to root around for a comfortable position.

* * *

Just as Dean wrestled his libido into submission, Sam wiggled around into a more comfortable position – for him! His thigh slid into direct contact with Dean's relentless morning wood. The delicious friction drove him closer; he ground against the heavy muscle and bone unknowingly offered to him. Powerless to stop the fire crawling up his spine and down his legs, throbbing with a pulsar-like intensity at his groin, Dean clung to his brother as his hips bucked a few times and he stifled a keen of pleasure as he came hard in sticky bursts.

Shit! It would be a miracle if Sam didn't wake up. Well, Dean could always say he'd come off in his sleep – he'd been more asleep than awake when this started, after all. At his age, it was kind of pathetic that he still had as many wet dreams as he did, but what could he do besides actually get laid or beat off all the time? Now that he and Sam were together-together, Dean wanted to be with Sam, not his own right hand. 

But now he had another decision: go back to sleep, or clean up? He sure as hell didn't want his spunk getting on Sam without his brother's permission. With another groan, this one born of tiredness and some degree of disgruntlement over his own lack of control, Dean flopped over onto his other side and went back to sleep. 

* * *

So the first part of his plan had worked even faster than expected: it took Dean only a few sharp thrusts until he shuddered and gasped, and Sam felt the wetness on his thigh. Rock hard himself now, however, Sam whined when Dean rolled away from him and fell asleep again. This must be what Dean had felt like a minute ago, wondering what to do, how to deal with his arousal and not wake his brother. 

Well, Sam was facing the same dilemma now. Since Dean was sleeping on his other side instead of having Sam attached to his neck, Sam was in a more favorable position in so far that Dean shouldn't wake up from Sam stroking himself to completion.

As his hand slid into his sleep pants, Sam was surprised by the amount of fluid that greeted him there. Apparently, the dehydration he'd obviously suffered from earlier had been resolved or had never applied to his dick in the first place. The slick was most welcome as he spread it around the fat head and began playing with his foreskin, then wrapping his hand around the thick shaft and thrusting firmly. He was close within minutes, trembling and groaning as he approached the peak.

Despite Sam's noises Dean didn't move when Sam came. Feeling warm and heavy after his orgasm, he dismissed the fleeting thought that his semen would congeal into a disgusting mess by morning: he was already disgusting enough what with all the sweat he was covered in. After listening to Dean's soft snores for a few minutes, Sam winked out again, too.


	2. Chapter 2

Having fallen asleep in the cellar curled up on the pallets, Jo woke at sun-up. No light filtered into the underground storage room but her internal clock told her. It must've been a really slow end to the night after all, since no irate, fuming Ellen had hollered or sought her out.

Stretching, she noted the stiff muscles in her shoulders brought on by the cold and damp, and the subsequent curled-up sleeping position. Stiff... Jo wondered if the Winchesters were still around or if they'd split after a few hours' rest. She was willing to bet that the two of them woke up stiff, with hard-ons the size of Manhattan, if not Long Island. Good lord, those two huge guys must have broken a few beds once they set them in motion. Which one of them was the girl, she wondered. Sam had to have taken that position at least once, but really, it tested the limits of Jo's imagination to think of either of them doing anything but... driving. 

Quickly rolling up the pallets, tying them with a length of rope, and stashing them, Jo cautiously proceeded up the steep stairs, lifting the edge of the trap door a half inch and seeing no feet around before emerging. The end-of-night chores included cleaning the kitchen where they grilled and deep-fried a few basic items and did dishes. Next to it was the pantry/prep room including a fridge circa 1957 and a deep freeze, a large metal shelf and two different-sized work tables. As she expected, other than to shut off the appliances used for cooking, nothing had been touched. Cold grease was even nastier than hot grease to clean. Normally she'd start with the fryer but the sink was full of hours-old dirty dishes meaning there'd be nowhere to wash the utensils... Ugh, someone had stolen the grease bucket, and she had some idea who. So disgusting! She was going to need a full-body condom for this job. But first, she'd need that bucket, it was the only one that would do: industrial-strength reinforced stainless steel.

Heaving a sigh, Jo tiptoed down the back hallway toward the rooms they rented out as lodging. Maybe she'd hear something interesting. Hunters were notoriously homophobic and there weren't too many females in the life, so for the most part, about all there was to overhear was some lonely guy jerking it. She stopped before she reached the Winchesters' door, not wanting to be caught out. That would just be humiliating. But, she needed that damned bucket. Debating if she should knock or just walk in, Jo lifted one foot when she heard Dean moan. Of course it was him... he hadn't kept entirely silent when she'd dug a bullet out of his deltoid (salivating the whole time). The source wasn't pain, or if it was it was pain-with-sex and that was an orgasm and god, Jo was immediately wet. Dean was coming, spurting, giving Sam his love, on the other side of that door. 

They must be half-awake at least if they were fooling around, and probably keeping their ears peeled for any noises not their own: she dared not move. There were rustling noises – changing position, she imagined. Then Sam groaned, too. His was lower, but louder. Even with the door between them, she could hear stroking. So that was how they did it: Dean did Sam and then finished his brother off with his hand. Still not willing to chance discovery, Jo waited till she heard light snoring, then sneaked back the way she'd come. Dammit! Someone whose name wasn't 'Jo' was going to clean that fryer! 

* * *

For once, Charlie's sleep wasn't interrupted. He liked his new life although sometimes being on call 24/7 was exhausting. The difference to Hope Zion was that here being on call meant being on call, whereas at his former job it had meant no breaks for 24 hours. Or 48. Or whatever was required. The sun was already up and he thought he'd heard some noises, so he quietly got out of bed and dressed in jeans and a sweater – the casual dress code was something else he liked here. 

And of course, the major perk to his life, the reason why he'd settled, Ellen. In contrast to Charlie, she was a night owl, which fitted her job at running the Roadhouse. Despite sharing the late hours with her, Jo, and especially Ash, Charlie still rose early. He didn't need much sleep but he always made sure Ellen got hers. As for Ash, it was usually physically impossible to rouse him before noon. Jo followed her own rules.

He padded over to Sam and Dean's room and listened at the door. Nodding to himself when he heard nothing but soft snoring, he continued to the kitchen. If Sam needed anything, Charlie was sure that Dean would make it heard – probably even in a place as far away as Sioux Falls. Some serious decisions were coming up eventually, but for the time being, the Winchesters had what they needed most, a place to stay. 

As for Charlie's leftover tasks from the examination the night before, he'd start with Sam's blood work. It had been too late to take the samples to the lab last night, and it was the first item on Charlie's agenda for the day. When he'd drawn Sam's blood, Charlie hadn't known yet what was going on with the man, but after he'd found out, it was clear that he needed to hand-deliver the samples to the only person he could trust with this. Dean wouldn't like it, but Charlie was sure that, for the sake of his brother, he'd agree to let Carlisle handle things that couldn't be done at the Roadhouse's makeshift clinic.

The moment he opened the kitchen door, however – he needed a coffee first – he knew his schedule had just been rearranged: the place was a mess. With Ash gone to his conference, cleaning up should have been Jo's job. The two younger inhabitants of the Roadhouse were assigned to KP on alternating days whereas Ellen and Charlie took care of the bar, unless Charlie had a patient, in which case the bar was Ellen's alone. If, however, Ellen woke up and saw the mess in the kitchen, she wouldn't be happy, and Charlie wanted to spare her the disappointment. Sighing, he found himself a pair of thick rubber gloves. As much as Jo liked to joke about his delicate surgeon's fingers, they were an asset he needed to look after. Cutting himself on broken glass and getting an infection from the kitchen gunk was not an option.

He cleared the dirty dishes from the sink, put them in the dish washer, and started the machine for the first cycle of the day. The grease bucket was in Sam's sick room, and Charlie made a mental note to acquire a few 'homeless' puke bowls at Carlisle's hospital later.

After making himself the much-needed cup of coffee, Charlie attacked the fryer. For a moment he considered how much satisfaction it would bring him to yell at Jo for ignoring her chores, but he knew he wouldn't do it. Nor would he rat her out to Ellen. The girl wasn't really happy with her life at Harvelle's and if Charlie could help by keeping her secret, he didn't mind cleaning up the mess so much. He liked his environment to be pristine and, unlike most other men – surgeons were reputed to be fastidious, after all – he was okay doing the cleaning himself. 

Other men... Now, there was an idea. On most days, there'd be a hunter in need for a place to crash, and Ellen usually offered them a cot. They paid with heavy labor, 'acquired' goods, and did all kinds of other stuff. Maybe Charlie should suggest they charge their guests with kitchen duty. Grinning to himself, he finished with cleaning.

Ellen was still fast asleep when he returned to their room for a shower, but there were sounds emerging from Jo's room. Charlie went to the kitchen and filled a second mug of coffee before knocking on her door.

"I need to deliver some stuff to Sioux Falls Hospital," he announced. "There's coffee, and the kitchen is taken care of. Can I ask you to look after a patient while I'm gone?" If Sam woke up to another round of puking, he wanted someone to be around and provide medication. Jo was his first choice.

* * *

In her room, door locked (not that that would keep anyone out) and lights off so as not to attract attention simply by giving the appearance of being awake, Jo took care of business. College had been good for one thing, or two if one counted learning how to fly solo, and also noiselessly. All the Winchester pheromones along with her overactive imagination had her riled up. Jo was brave, but not brave enough to let everyone in the place hear the two-finger special end in multiple spasms that left her entire body limp. She allowed herself two minutes of afterglow before a quick wash and change of clothes. 

The timing worked out to where she wasn't caught naked or worse. Shortly after she'd pulled her boots on and run a brush through the tangled mess of her hair, there was a discreet knock on her door. Definitely not Ellen, then. Although in a good way, Jo was flabbergasted when Charlie told her that he'd cleaned the kitchen, not his chore at all, and he hadn't been outwardly pissed off about it. With Ash gone till an undisclosed date, Jo was supposed to pick up the slack. Helping with a patient wouldn't nearly make up for it, but was a start. For once, she'd also refrain from inquiring sarcastically about dishpan hands, or if the surgeon had come through the degreasing debacle burn-free, cold oil or no.

"Sure," Jo nodded in response to his question. "What do you need me to do?" As soon as the words were out, a feeling of dread washed over her. Unless there'd been another hunter needing a doctor even later in the evening, the patient was sure to be Sam. And Dean would be there, too, probably smug as shit over her discomfort at the two of them, flaunting their 'relationship'. Well, she'd offered, and she wouldn't go back on her word... Not unless Sam needed an enema – in which case she'd make Dean do it while she laughed.

* * *

Charlie wasn't surprised to find Jo awake. She immediately agreed to do whatever was necessary, which was good because he trusted her, but it could also lead to a delicate situation.

"You were here last night when Dean Winchester needed help with his brother Sam," Charlie began. "Now, I'm not yet sure what exactly it is he's suffering from," – it wasn't a lie since what Charlie thought ailed Sam was technically and physically impossible – "but I'm assuming it isn't contagious, since otherwise Dean would have it, too. So, Sam's been vomiting a lot. I've given him something for it and it helped, but I don't know how long the effect of the medication will last. Also, it's important that Sam drinks enough, he's lost a lot of fluid, and that he rests."

He made sure that Jo was listening, then continued. "Dean was very worried and didn't want to leave Sam alone, so I put them both in the guest room. If you go check on them, may I suggest you don't comment on them sharing a bed, there was no alternative. And yes, checking on them, or rather Sam, is what I'm asking of you. Make sure he doesn't feel nauseous, and if he does, offer him the pills I'll give you in a second. Convince him to drink enough." 

Charlie hesitated. "I need you to emphasize to him the good sense of taking the meds _before_ he gets sick again. They won't work if he pukes them up and since I'd rather not have you try to inject him, the alternative are suppositories. Which I will provide, of course, but..." He winced. "You know Dean better than I and he didn't strike me as the mother-henning or possessive type, but from what I've seen yesterday, trust me when I say that you don't want to mess with Dean if Sam needs rectal administration of an anti-emetic."

Feeling bad for putting this task on Jo, Charlie asked, "Do you think you can handle that or would you rather I ask Ellen?"

* * *

Contagious? Jo struggled not to snort derisively. Dean Winchester pregnant would be the end-all of all freakiness. How interesting that Charlie claimed he didn't know what was wrong with Sam. If it were doctor/patient confidentiality he was concerned about, he wouldn't have said what he had either, because it would have been a lie, misinformation. Unless she'd been dreaming, which Jo's precipitous climb up and near-fall from the cellar shelves told her she hadn't been, she and Charlie both knew that Sam was somehow pregnant, only Charlie wasn't aware that Jo had overheard it. Maybe the doctor was in shock on behalf of his patient. Stranger things had happened. More likely, it was denial.

In the past, Jo had dropped a remark or two in front of Charlie to the effect of, she thought the Winchester boys had a sexual relationship. Sharing a bed only went with the territory. Because Charlie didn't deserve the sharp side of her tongue, she corralled the dirty thoughts and only nodded. Also, Jo had an interest in being his assistant in the clinic as long as she was stuck here, so deferring the unappealing tasks to her mother was out of the question. The man wasn't stupid – he knew exactly what buttons to push. 

"I can handle it. Unless he's changed a lot, Sam will see the sense of that," Jo replied. "Taking the pills, resting, drinking liquids, all that. I doubt he enjoys puking any more than the rest of us. Dean's the hot-headed one," she swallowed hard, "usually. If it comes down to suppositories," here, Jo couldn't suppress a grimace, "I'll, er, be on the lookout for any territorial posturing and be ready to let Dean do the job. But we'll try fluids first." Sticking a needle in Sam didn't appeal, and she wasn't so confident about the correct site, either. The younger brother had ropy veins up both arms but Jo's training was very limited, to date.

They had plenty of easy-on-the-stomach drinks for Sam: Gatorade, 7-Up, Sprite, and plain water. If he got better, she could make him some broth. In all likelihood, the more difficult job would be not pissing Dean off. "How long might you be gone?" she asked Charlie, who seemed anxious to be on the road. 

* * *

"Couple hours, give or take," Charlie shrugged. The drive shouldn't take too long, but he didn't know how busy Carlisle was and how much explaining he'd have to do. "I don't expect any drama with Sam. Keeping Dean on his toes is another story, but if you tell him that whatever needs doing is for Sam's benefit, I'm confident he'll cooperate."

He wondered if cooperation included Dean letting anyone touch Sam, but with any luck the theory wouldn't be put to test. "Unless he feels sick again, Sam will probably be hungry. I'd suggest you don't feed him typical hunter food yet," Charlie elaborated. The sickness may or may not have supernatural causes as it need not necessarily be due to the pregnancy – if it was that; Charlie still couldn't believe it – itself but could easily be explained by the stress brought on by the whole situation.

"Shall I show you which meds you may need?"

* * *

"Alright. I'm pretty sure of where the meds are kept, but a refresher won't hurt." Jo led the way to the clinic room down the hall. Walking by what Charlie called the guest rooms and what her mind had already tagged as the Winchesters' room, she would have sworn she heard another stifled moan, but she didn't dare stop to eavesdrop. Instead, she waited by the cabinet where they kept prescription drugs, and when Charlie arrived, pointed out which pills she would start with and the suppositories, for worst case scenario. Running her fingertip along the shelf, she found what she was looking for in seconds. "Here, metoclopramide, orally. And ondansetron if we have to resort to rectally." 

Jo pursed her lips and looked up at Charlie, expecting he'd take his leave. Compared to – of course – Sam and Dean, her mother's live-in boyfriend was a plain-looking man, average height and build, not stunningly handsome but certainly not homely. Perhaps his medical training or his natural even-keel temperament kept expressions of more than mild enjoyment, surprise, annoyance, sympathy, or really any intense emotions off his face, for as long as she'd known him. In those months, he'd grown less formal, which Jo appreciated. All those attributes, she supposed, were useful for hiding in plain sight. It was almost comical to imagine the shock on his mug last night. 

"You gonna stand here with your thumb up your butt," Jo picked up and waved a blister-pack of suppositories at him, "or hit the road?" She grinned and rolled her eyes to take the edge off her little dig. Yes, she wanted him to get going – the sooner he left, the sooner he'd be back. "We'll be fine," she added unnecessarily. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but as she'd already said once too often, she'd handle it. 

* * *

Jo followed him to the clinic, but Charlie didn't have to explain anything. Although most of his patients suffered from open wounds and injuries rather than nausea, Jo remembered the medications and dosages for vomiting. When she made it clear that she wanted him gone, Charlie laughed.

"I guess I'd better pull my thumb from my butt as you put it, unless I want to end up as a traffic accident casualty in your care," he joked. "See you in a bit, then." Satisfied that Sam was in good hands, he left. Besides, if needed, she had his cell number. 

* * *

For the second time that day, Dean woke up hard and leaking. Thanks to his earlier apathy toward cleaning up, his hard-on was glued to his thigh, which was crooked up in his semi-fetal position on his side; in general he was a sticky mess down there and didn't relish what freeing himself from his bunched, twisted underwear was going to involve. Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to consider his options because he had to pee like a racehorse. 

Groaning in all kinds of discomfort, Dean levered himself out of bed and hobbled like an elderly, arthritic hunchback to the adjoining bathroom. There'd better be a shower! Pissing with a hard-on was near impossible at the best of times and this wasn't one of them. His eyes were already watering from a combination of urgency and the hair-pulling going on in his shorts. If he didn't make a decision in the next few seconds, it would be made for him, and that was completely unacceptable. 

Turned out there was one of those tub-and-shower outfits most common in all but the rattiest and oldest of motels these days. Sam would kill him if he found out Dean had pissed in the shower, but the point was, he wouldn't. Teeth clenched hard to control both the need to empty his screaming bladder a few more seconds and to keep from screaming, himself, Dean stripped his boxers down his legs. He couldn't even care about the haphazard exfoliation as he turned on the water and stepped under the cold stream, which effectively melted his erection. Good thing he could point it down, too, because it felt like at least a gallon in his bladder and the pressure at first was pretty impressive. Dean couldn't even remember the last time he'd been to the bathroom, what with tending to Sam. Maybe mid-afternoon the day before, during one of those brakes-screeching roadside stops so Sam could puke out the door of the car. Bracing one hand on the wall with the other on his shrinking but still-gushing dick, Dean noted the dark yellow color, and he wasn't even the sick one. He supposed he hadn't had much to drink either, nothing healthy. 

When he finally finished, he turned the temperature to warm and showered for real, washing off the dust and sweat of the last two days. The soap and shampoo provided just smelled like soap, nothing girlie. Shaving would have to wait but whatever, Dean and his stubble were on close terms, the majority of days. Deciding if he washed any longer he'd be playing with himself, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. 

Now that he was half-awake, Dean's stomach growled at him. He was hungry, really hungry. Typical breakfast included pancakes or French toast, eggs, hash browns, side of whatever form of pig sounded good, and a pot of coffee. He'd probably have to do for himself here, being that the Roadhouse was open late, not early. And the smell might make Sam sick. And speaking of, was he even awake yet? The doctor had stressed that Sam needed rest, lots of rest, and fluids. One kind of precluded the other. Wrapping his towel around his waist, Dean opened the door as quietly as possible and tiptoed back into the room. 

* * *

Sam wasn't sure what had woken him up but his bladder was once again killing him. He found himself alone in a bed he vaguely remembered sharing with Dean, in a room he'd never seen before. It must be one of the guest rooms at the Roadhouse, he mused, although his memory of how they'd gotten here was slightly fuzzy: all he remembered was being sick over and over again.

Sounds coming from behind a door suggested that it was a bathroom, but although the need to pee made Sam's eyes water, he stayed put: although he and Dean were now even closer he doubted that Dean would appreciate being interrupted taking a dump, and Sam wasn't sure what his brother was doing.

What he was sure, though, was that as soon as he'd relieved himself of several gallons of piss he wanted another kind of relief, preferably from Dean's hands. First things first, though.

"Dean?" he called out, "Hurry up, will ya?"

* * *

He needn't have worried about waking his brother. Sam was awake, eyes slitted, body held with the kind of stiffness that said he needed the bathroom _now_. About all Dean could do was get out of the way as his moose of a brother flew by him. Belatedly, he considered that maybe Sam's... morning sickness... had returned. Whatever the Doc had pumped into him last night had helped within minutes, although he'd inferred more medication would be needed. And rest, not just sleeping, but deliberately lying around in bed. That was so not them. 

Otherwise-unoccupied Sam in a bed could have its advantages, Dean was quick to grasp. Yes, his towel had shifted. He took the easy road and tossed it aside, then sprawled butt-naked across the bed. Still damp from the shower, the rush of air tightened his nipples and balls and goose-bumped his skin. Goose-flesh and freckles, not the most attractive combination, Dean supposed. He had plenty of other features to call attention to, if Sam wanted to play. So far, no retching sounds filtered through the bathroom door, which was a good sign.

* * *

Finally, _finally_ the bathroom door opened. To Sam it felt as if his eyeballs were beginning to turn yellow from the excess fluid in his bladder, and when he stormed past Dean it was at the very last second that he could hold back. The moment he started letting go, a loud moan escaped from his mouth. Dean would certainly comment on it, but for now Sam didn't care about anything else than about the fluid pouring from his body.

Once he was done peeing, Sam conducted a quick inventory of his body. His stomach felt okay, but he stank, and from more than his and Dean's combined semen that had dried into flaky crusts on his thigh and abdomen. Deciding that a quick shower was in order, Sam enjoyed the warm water on his skin before toweling himself dry. He brushed his teeth again and drank another large glass of water. 

His erection hadn't deflated while he'd washed; actually, the opposite happened: it was sending angry demands to his brain by now. The thought of stepping back in the shower and directing the warm spray on his glans while slowly moving his foreskin up and down over the swollen crown made him emit a moan of a quite different quality than a few minutes before. This wasn't relief, it was lust, pure and unabated need that Sam felt only Dean could quench.

A towel barely concealing his hardness, he walked back to their room. The sight of his naked brother hit him like an anvil to the head. Dean was lying on the bed with half-closed eyes and still damp skin, and he was playing lazily with himself. His nipples had tightened into tiny pink peaks, and Sam felt his own buds tingle with this weird sensation of pleasure and pain that he'd come to experience these past few days, that the nubs were enlarged and sore and yet he couldn't wait for Dean to roll and pinch them between his fingers and suck on them so hard that it hurt even more – so much more that Sam had actually cum from that alone, without even having his dick touched.

Oh, his dick was throbbing with want and he could hardly keep his hands off it, but seeing Dean touching himself, Sam swallowed hard and told himself that his brother's needs came first. Somehow, the idea of denying himself until he'd given Dean the best and most intense climax he'd ever had, notched his arousal up some more and Sam moaned as he felt a trickle of slick press its way out from this place deep inside his ass through the inner tubing, until it leaked from his slit, which suddenly seemed the most receptive part of his body ever.

"God, Dean," he moaned, "I'mma die if you don't touch me now!"

* * *

A sonorous moan came from the bathroom. Dean's eyes swiveled in the direction. The shower had been running and Dean fantasized, unabashed as he stroked himself slowly, of his brother naked, gleaming wet and hard, under the water. Sam's body was an amazing example of a human male's, and it had so many hot spots for Dean to explore and exploit. 

A minute later, the man himself appeared, wild-eyed with lust and begging to be touched. Dean looked him over, drinking miles of clean skin and a definite bulge under the skimpy towel. His dick jumped in his hand, and grew three sizes like the Grinch on Christmas. "You're not gonna die, Sammy. Get your needy ass over here and I'll give you everything you need." 

In their unabated lust for each other so far, Sam had blamed it partially on Elko and the witchy activities that had spawned a sex demon. Now that they were far from the place, Dean was eager to see if it was more 'them' than conjurings. Sitting up, he tugged the towel away from where Sam had slung it around his hips. A massive, reddish hard-on leaking profusely from the slit greeted him. "Hello, breakfast," he snorted, immediately licking away the sugary fluid. More and more emerged in tiny spurts and Dean swiped at it with his tongue. "Tastes good," he moaned. "Sweet." Sam's legs were shaking already, he noticed. Good. Dean slurped the flared head into his mouth, wrapping a hand around the shaft. Taking a breath through his nostrils, he sucked in as many inches as he could handle, backed off, took in more. If Sam wanted something different, Dean trusted him to say so, but what man could refuse getting blown? With his free hand, he palmed Sam's clenched butt cheek, stealthily moving into the crease. 

* * *

Dean did more than touch. Sam's plan to tend to his brother's needs first dissolved into white hot pleasure when Dean swallowed him down to the root without further ado. "Oh god, god," Sam moaned as his knees buckled. Dean said something about breakfast, but Sam must have misunderstood; surely, food wasn't on top of their agenda, was it?

Then again, maybe Dean felt neglected. Sam glanced down at the space between them where Dean was furiously stroking himself. "No," Sam moaned, "stop, lemme do that..." Still standing, he couldn't reach Dean's groin, but his legs were about to give out anyway. When Dean let go of the suction for a moment – and Sam immediately let out a disappointed whine – he sank down on the bed next to his brother. 

"Wanna make you cum first," he announced, resorting to his original plan. "And then I wanna cum, too, with you only touching my nipples."

* * *

More of those moans poured from Sam's chest as Dean bobbed his head. Still growing, still hardening to where it had to hurt, the cock in his mouth pulsed with trapped hot blood and spat sticky slick down his throat. Dean loved it, the pure, raw physical aspect as well as how every swirl of his tongue and pull of suction drove Sam into a whimpering mess. His own junk was wet with pre-come now, balls so full and swollen with the need to release he had to slow down or he'd jizz on the floor between Sam's feet. 

What Dean really wanted was to lay Sam down and take him, but both of them were fast approaching their limits and he had no idea where they'd find lube. No way would Dean risk hurting his lover. Then Sam stopped himself, whining in misery when Dean let go of his dick. Looking up with shiny lips, Dean's groin tightened further as Sam wobbled, then dropped to the bed with demands he allow Dean to let him bring him off first, then make Sam explode from only playing with his incredibly sensitive nipples. "I-if... if that's how you really wannit..." 

As far as how he wanted it, there were so many choices of how Sam could do him, and Dean's endorphin-flooded brain couldn't decide at all. He did what came naturally: rolled on top of Sam and captured his mouth, licking along the seam of his lips then inside, while he rutted against the body under him. Wedging himself between Sam's muscular thighs, Dean stretched to kiss his brother and grind into the frantic press of them, as they rocked together. He whispered, "Don't have to do nothin' but let me... god, let me, Sam, gonna cum all over you..." 

* * *

Dean rolled himself on top of Sam's body, and Sam immediately began thrusting. The heat in his groin was matched by an equal fire when his dick rubbed against his brother's, slick with outpouring from both of them. 

"Nuughh!" Sam moaned. He wrapped his legs around Dean, trying to pull him closer with his feet against Dean's butt. "Want you so much," he pressed out between groans that couldn't be called anything but pornographic. All his life, Sam had attempted to be quiet during sex. Although it usually worked when he was alone, as soon as Dean was around – and around meant anywhere within a mile radius – he couldn't keep his moans down. 

Only this wasn't one of their random motel rooms, they were in Ellen Harvelle's guest room and he didn't think the loud sounds of him and Dean having sex would be appreciated. Especially by Jo, who had a huge crush on Dean. Suddenly, Sam felt possessive. Dean was his, and his only. The next moan came out as a growl and Sam dug his hands into Dean's back, not caring whether he'd leave marks. 

Another moan-growl made it out of his mouth, but it was still too loud. Sam went for the straight-forward solution by kissing Dean. It took his brother a second to catch on – he must be too busy thrusting and rubbing against Sam to think quickly – but then Dean got with the program and kissed back ferociously. Their tongues dueled for dominance and Sam found that pushing his tongue deep into Dean's mouth gave him as much satisfaction as letting himself be invaded. It was heaven.

Somehow during all their snarling and kissing, including the occasional bite, Dean's dick had slipped down Sam's crack and continued thrusting, making Sam crazy with lust, not only because he could now rut against Dean's firm abdomen, but also from the stimulation of Dean's wet erection catching on his rim.

"Dean," Sam gasped, eyes wild and breathless when he broke the kiss for a second, "please, _please_ tell me there's something within arm's reach that we can use for lubricant! I need you in me now!"

* * *

Sam accepted him into his arms, between his legs, moaning his pleasure. Unable to stifle his brother's sounds – or his own – regardless of who was awake to hear them, Dean rutted with controlled jerks of his hips, hard length against hard length, perfect friction. It felt so good to let his body free to flex and pull while Sam wrapped his legs around him, thighs gripping Dean's waist and heels pressing into his lower back to guide the rhythm. Anything but still, Sam's grinding and twisting pitched Dean nearly off him, till he slid down enough where his dick lodged under Sam's balls and into the cleft to his ass. He knew it the second he reached Sam's hidden entrance – not only by the puckered, hot skin but because his brother started hissing at Dean to find them anything to use as lube _now._ Wild-eyed, Dean lifted his head and cast about for anything available within reach. Like a dummy, he hadn't brought in their bags last night, and toothpaste and soap – still in the other room – wouldn't do. If they'd been fooling around in the kitchen or the clinic there'd have been options, but here in a guest room for mostly homophobic hunters too manly for even lotion...? 

"There's nothing, Sam," Dean told him in a low voice, and got a whine in return. "But I know how bad you need me to get this dick up in you... so how 'bout I lick and finger you open till you gimme a big load'a cream, and then I'll give it to you deep and hard, sliding in your goo all the way...?" Little spikes of ricocheting arousal made him prod against Sam's hole a few more times, but not to penetrate him yet. He slithered down a little more, tongue tracing a line downward between Sam's pectorals. Before he went beyond reach, Dean whipped his head to one side and caught the painfully erect bud adorning the expansive muscle between his lips and gave it a good pinch. Hadn't Sam said something about getting off from having his nipples sucked? 

* * *

Dean's first words that there was nothing available to ease the way made Sam wail in disappointment. It was so unfair! He hadn't asked to be impregnated by his brother's seed, but couldn't fate at least grant them a little reprieve now that he'd finally stopped throwing up his guts – and provide some means for their much-needed relief? 

His chagrin lasted only a few seconds when Dean immediately followed up with a suggestion that made all remaining blood flee from his brain to his groin. "Yes, yes!" Sam hissed as a large gush of fluid rushed from his aching dick. "I want that. Want your tongue on me and your fingers. Want you to make me cum and then I want you in me and make me cum again..."

He didn't get any further when Dean pulled one of his oversensitive nipples between his lips and sucked down hard. All thoughts of Dean's tongue on his entrance fled when pure unadulterated pleasure spread from the small bud through his whole body. "Fuuck!" Sam exclaimed. His chest reared up and he rubbed his slick erection against Dean's abdomen. Frantic with need, he almost howled when Dean bit on his nipple, gently, but in his aroused state, Sam welcomed the slight pain.

"Please don't stop, De, please don't stop," he chanted. "I'll give you my cream in a few seconds so you can slick yourself up with it and do me, just, please don't stop!"

* * *

"Not gonna stop, gonna do you right..." Dean had never seen Sam so uninhibited, could barely believe the dirty talk his brother spewed like they'd been co-starring together in 'adult films' for years. The second Dean went to work on his nipples, Sam nearly flew off the bed. Between grinning and sucking the hard little nubs, Dean was drooling from his mouth; his dick was drooling, too, eager to contribute to the mission of invading Sam. But first, they needed their homemade lube. All the grunts and groans Sam produced only got louder, lower, the closer he got to giving up his load. Dean made the conscious choice to forget about muffling either of them this one time. If some pissed off patron or employee of Harvelle's busted through their door with a shotgun, they'd at least go out with a bang. 

As he held his brother down with force and body weight, Dean trailed a hand over Sam's heaving chest, then the side of his abs, going for the stealth attack. Swiping up some of the slick that was starting to smear everywhere, he steered for Sam's hole. Currently the crown of his cock head was pushed against it as it clenched and unclenched in no discernible pattern, and he wanted nothing more than to breach the tiny entrance. With his forefinger only, Dean pushed in, his lower body jerking with need as his digit slid in smoothly. "Gimme..." he wheezed, wiggling in his middle finger as well to stroke the anterior wall. Any second now... Dean bit down a little harder on the pointed nub he'd been tonguing and prodded the little gland inside Sam's body, the counterpart to his own which he'd finally had 'introduced' to him properly just days ago. "Cum for me, Sammy..." 

* * *

"Dean, Dean, oh god..." Sam reared up from the mattress when the fireworks spreading from his chest short-circuited his nervous system. Then he was breached and Dean went straight for the kill. Two, three gentle prods against his pleasure gland made Sam see stars. Dean asked him to cum and that was it. Sam's body convulsed as his balls pulled up and began heaving their load.

The spewing wouldn't end, there was another and another and yet another burst of thick creamy fluid. "Want... now..." Sam wheezed. "Need you in me now, Dean!"

* * *

"Gonna get exactly what you want..." Sam's orgasm was a beautiful thing, an indescribable high for Dean as he held Sam through his peak. Not lacking in self-confidence between the sheets, that he was able to provide his lover the level of bliss from his touch or Sam's trust in him just made him want to give more, do more, anything Sam needed. Face and body shiny with sweat, strands of hair sticking haphazardly to his forehead and cheeks, Sam tensed and, eyes shut tightly, he arched his back and shot his load, spurts and more spurts and it just kept coming. Catching the frothy spunk in the palm of his hand, Dean slathered some on his erection, then brought the rest of the sticky-slick collection to Sam's hole. He'd already been inside, with his fingers. Working in as much of the warm cream as he could, making sure to stretch the rim in efficient little pulls with the pads of his fingers, Dean went as slow as either of them could stand through Sam's aftershocks. Thanks to proximity and because he needed to get his mouth on that body, Dean kept his lips pressed to the tanned chest, shoulder, whatever he could find to suck on be it smooth muscle or throbbing little nub. Little, yes, but still swollen compared to their pre-pregnancy size; he wasn't sure how he felt about that, how Sam's body was changing. And this was only the beginning.

By the time Sam's groaning calmed, Dean was the one trembling with the tension of holding back. Suddenly, he couldn't wait any longer. Still in an advantageous position from before, he lined himself up. "Want you bad, Sammy... so hard now, like I could pound nails..." He flexed his hips, feeling how Sam's wet hole gave a little to the pressure. "Love you so much! Nngh!" 

Sam let him in, took him in. This, the end-all of rutting and humping, hand-jobs and blow-jobs, was Dean's place – on him, inside him, the tight clasp of his lover's body driving shards of white-hot passion through his brain and every movable joint. "Oh gawd...!" he howled. Already he'd lost his grip. Those few days of not touching each other had been too long when he was so fucking in love with his brother. "Sam... Sammy..." Dean slid in deep, pulled back, slammed in deeper yet, staring down into glassy, slitted hazel-green eyes. He couldn't stop chanting his brother's name every time he filled him. From below, Sam moved with his speeding thrusts, sinuous as a cat, his dick between their bellies twitching and growing again already. 

* * *

They were fucking again. Or maybe for the first time here because the noises coming from that room were much more adamant now. Jo knew it was wrong to listen, but hell, who could help it? Especially Sam's grunts and low-pitched pained sounds had an otherworldly quality, almost chilling. She wondered if it was a left-over from demon blood or possession, or if he'd always been like that. 

There was no point standing outside their room, tray of pills and so forth just waiting to be spilled. Jo turned on her heel like the floor itself had insulted her and escaped to her room. It didn't help, though. Damned Winchesters, carrying on like two bitches in heat till their sex noises filled the ventilation ducts and practically vibrated the floorboards. She didn't know if she wished for Ellen to sleep through it, because either of them with blue balls? Very bad idea. Or maybe she wished Ellen would wake up and hear the ruckus. It would be funny as shit to see the fallout of coitus interruptus, as interrupted by her mother. Too bad it couldn't be both ways. 

Jo drew an unsteady breath, then another. No, she wasn't going to get herself off again, that was somehow pathetic despite the morass of incestuous gay love she was compelled to listen to. Really, she just wanted them to hurry up.

* * *

Sam was still shaking through the aftershocks when Dean pushed in. It was too much and not anywhere near enough at the same time. Finally, Dean had sunk to the bottom and Sam felt filled to the core, not only in his body but also in his heart. 

"Dean, Dean," he moaned and kept his arms slung tightly around his brother. One hand was buried in Dean's short hair, pulling him close so that they could resume their kissing. The other hand was on Dean's butt, holding on so tightly that Doc Charlie would probably have to treat the marks from Sam's fingernails the following day – Sam couldn't care less.

A part of him wanted to stay like this, with Dean buried to the hilt, for the rest of their lives, but when Dean immediately started thrusting, Sam went with the program enthusiastically. He moaned and thrashed, impatient to reach the next peak that he could already feel coming with all his senses – heck, how was it possible to _smell_ an orgasm, but Sam swore that's what was happening.

"Dean," he groaned again, a deep, guttural sound, "wanna cum, need to cum, with you!"

* * *

She'd heard footsteps for a while now, but nobody had requested her presence, so Ellen had rewarded herself with another twenty minutes of rest. When she heard a scream from the guest room, however, she knew that her grace period had ended. There was a note from Charlie on his pillow that he'd gone to Sioux Falls for a consult. Ash was meeting with some fellow geeks – or was it nerds these days? – so the clomping feet had to be her daughter's. The screaming continued, but there was no running, so whatever was going on was ignored by Jo. Ellen doubted that this was according to the instructions Charlie had most likely left with Jo, so she got up to investigate.

Sam was in real pain, this much was obvious. There was a second, softer set of moans that didn't quite make sense, but knowing about the weird symbiotic relationship the Winchester brothers had, Dean could very well be suffering from sympathetic pains. If that was the case, she'd have blackmail material for the rest of their lives as soon as Sam was back on his feet again. Right now, however, she had to make sure that Sam _would_ get back on his feet.

Not sure what to do – Charlie had been surprisingly tight-lipped the night before – Ellen decided to pull Jo from whatever her daughter was doing instead of her duties. Jo couldn't have missed the ruckus, so Ellen didn't bother with knocking and pushed open the door to her room.

_"Joanna Beth Harvelle!"_

* * *

...And they just kept going. Last night, Sam had looked like death warmed over and Dean, ready to keel over from exhaustion and nerves, so how was it that bright and early the next morning one or both of them had the stamina of the Energizer Bunny? Jo clenched her fists at her sides to keep from hitting something. Where were her good throwing knives when she needed them? She would also need a likely target that did _not_ include pieces of collective Winchester anatomy. Imagining a red-and-white bullseye on Dean's nekkid butt, she was startled violently out of her reverie by her angry mother barging in and barking her full given name.

"What?!" Jo retorted, unsuccessful at keeping the surly 13-year-old brat out of her voice. Ellen gave her the hairy eyeball. Her eyebrows were raised nearly to her hairline and it was obvious that her 'concern' had to do with the circus sideshow taking place in the best guest room, specifically the accompanying sound effects. "Oh, them?" she scoffed. "They're fine. Fine enough for a second round." The blank, guarded look of confusion on Ellen's face was one Jo had been treated to maybe a handful of times in her life. Just for fun, she added with a not-so-discreet cough, "They're fucking." Sam's next gutteral groan confirmed it, although Jo had to admit, if she weren't 100% sure of what she was hearing, the sound could have been mistaken for severe pain. 

* * *

Sam was quickly losing it, but then Dean was, too. Taking the edge off earlier hadn't helped much. Sam, he'd noticed, was way more sensitive, almost hair-trigger, for all that it was Dean who craved touch, and he didn't have the control Dean had accomplished after years of hook-ups. Not that he minded; it seemed like Sam was never truly finished before he'd orgasmed two, three, four times, and Dean loved that, as well as how Sam needed him to reach his ultimate fulfillment. They'd blamed it on Elko but the theory could not be entirely true.

Now he ground into Sam with everything he had, kissing him, moaning into his mouth. Every thrust shook the bed. Between them, Sam's dick grazed their stomachs like a hot, skin-covered metal rod. Fingernails scraped fiery lines across Dean's ass as he pumped in and out, faster, harder. As they slapped and swung, Dean's balls drew up, heavy with cum, almost as hard as his cock. 

He'd rattled off a slew of dirty talk before; now Dean talked with his body. From his own lips, Sam had professed his wish, that they finish together – and so they would. Each roll of his hips angled just slightly different till Dean found the one that made Sam buck under him, spread his thighs wide and scream to raise the roof. "Gotcha," Dean muttered. All of his muscles seized then, and the dam broke and he started to come in long, almost violent bursts that practically yanked his seed free of its ducts and tubules, expelling it deep into his brother. At the same time, the mess of slick between them increased exponentially, tickling his skin as Sam released another load of cream. Dean couldn't stop – coming or moving – till the last dregs were tapped and he shuddered out the last sluggish droplet. 

* * *

"God, yes," Sam ground out when Dean adjusted his angle and upped his speed. Now that his prostate was pummeled continuously, it was only a matter of seconds before the peak hit – and then it did, and violently so. If Sam's brain had had any capacity left to think he may have wondered where all the spunk was coming from. As it was, however, his higher brain functions had shut down and he was reduced to cumming, shooting more and more and then some more, accompanied by guttural groans.

Dean was the same, and together they shuddered, moaned, jizzed through their climax until they collapsed on the bed, shaking with exhaustion and bliss, when suddenly, there was a loud thump on the door.

* * *

Ellen couldn't remember the last time she'd been rendered speechless, let alone by her own daughter, but the almost casual statement that 'they're fucking' made her jaw drop literally and figuratively. Disbelief written all over her face, it took Ellen what felt like an eternity to respond. While she struggled for an appropriate reply, however, her ears turned a deep shade of red when she listened more closely and found Jo's statement confirmed. These were indeed not the agonized sounds of a moribund person but the most passionate – and primitive – sex noises she'd heard in a long time.

Quickly making up her mind, she barked, "Follow me," then led the way to the guest room and whaled on the door. "If you're well enough for _that_ you can help with cleaning."

She nodded to herself. With Ash gone, the amount of work was too much for three persons, even if she counted Charlie as full. Help was always needed, and the Winchesters – even they! – should know better than to mess with her.

* * *

If he'd thought they'd get a while – even a minute – to lie sated and replete in each other's arms and come down from the incredible high, Dean was dead wrong. Someone pounding on their door, a woman's voice, clearly incensed over what she'd heard cut through his haze of satisfaction... demanding that they get up and work? 

Ellen. The woman was a barracuda on a good day and they were partaking of her hospitality and not-so-tender mercies, so he'd better tread lightly. With a sigh, Dean pulled out as carefully as he could manage, rolled off his brother and surveyed the damage. Sam made a huge tan sprawl across the bed, his body sheened and smeared with white across the midsection. Looking at him, Dean felt such a swell of love and desire he almost (but not quite) decided to ignore their host. Not like she'd be ignored. He couldn't let her in right now, though; they reeked of sex, not to mention both were naked. "Just a minute!" he called out. 

There wasn't much he could do with the less-than-minute before Ellen was likely to break the door down or pick the lock. Dean picked up the first things he could find within reach, their discarded towels, tossed one at Sam and started wiping ineffectually at the goo splattered on his abdomen. Then his junk. His jeans lay crumpled and half kicked under the bed and he struggled to get both legs in and pulled them up. Shirtless, the woman or women outside – he'd heard Jo's lighter step, too, would just have to deal with. He was pretty sure they'd both be staring at his nipples anyway. Too bad they hadn't gone through with the piercings.

He guessed that Charlie wasn't around. The blood samples he'd taken last night would need testing, meaning they'd need to be transported to a medical lab, and there was no such thing out here in the boondocks of northwestern Nebraska. The man might not be back for hours... not that Dean needed anyone to defend him but at least Charlie could vouch for Sam not being in any condition to be working right now, whatever that entailed.

About to head for the door, Dean noticed the silver metal bucket he'd grabbed out of Charlie's hands. He detoured to set it next to the bed, while he pulled the sheet up over Sam's nudity. His brother was a full-grown, adult, powerfully built man, yet Dean's protectiveness reared up fiercely. No way the Harvelles were getting a free show. Seconds were ticking away. Tearing his eyes away from his lover, Dean padded to the door and opened it a couple of inches. "Reporting for duty, _sir!_ " He added a mock salute.

* * *

The sudden silence in the room spoke volumes. Then there was some rustling around and Dean barked out a gruff request for 'a minute'. It took longer than a minute before Dean, half-dressed, cracked the door. While waiting, Jo had stifled her stupid immature giggles, and now she slouched casually against the wall behind her mother. If not, she might have fallen backwards against it. Dean's pink, perfect, erect nipples, his toned chest and god, those freckles were everywhere... the effect was shattered: A wave of pheromones, sweat, semen and other things she'd rather not consider assaulted her nose. Jo fake-coughed in disgust. Not only did the brothers make enough noise to wake the dead, but they could've peeled the wallpaper off a brothel's walls with that... scent. She had promised Charlie she'd look after Sam, but all of a sudden, she didn't want to be anywhere near him. Whatever Ellen had planned, Jo hoped it pissed him off.

* * *

Still pretty much out of it from cumming hard twice, Sam whined when Dean pulled out, both from the loss and also from feeling sore. There was some commotion at the door, he belatedly noticed, but Dean was already taking care of it. Sam smiled at Dean when he felt the blanket being pulled up over his chest, then he closed his eyes and drifted off again.

* * *

Maybe she should feel guilty for putting an abrupt end to Sam and Dean having sex. It was probably the only kind of relief these boys ever got, but Ellen's compassion ended when their noises woke up the entire household. To be honest, she had to admit that she was also annoyed with them for getting her worried that the screams had expressed pain, in particular when she considered Sam's state the night before.

Now, that was a puzzle she intended to find out about as soon as Charlie returned. Sam puking up his guts hadn't been pretense, and Dean had been on the verge of freaking out. That had been more than a simple case of bad shrimp. And that Charlie left the house to hand deliver the blood samples – to his buddy at Sioux Falls no less – no, something was going on here and Ellen was already convinced that she wasn't going to like it.

For the time being, however, there wasn't much she could do about it – other than putting Dean to work. It would keep his mind off Sam and, besides, she could really do with some help running the Roadhouse.

"Dean, if you're trying to soften me up with the view don't forget that I have a daughter that's not too far from your age." Pointing out that age-wise she could be his mother was not an option, given Sam and Dean's mom's horrible death. "I suggest you get dressed. The bar is waiting to be mopped and since Charlie isn't here to do it I'm sure you'll volunteer." She smiled at him sweetly.

"And Jo, I suggest you stop ogling. If I remember right, Charlie put you in charge of Sam here, and if Sam doesn't require your ministrations, the kitchen needs cleaning," she addressed her daughter.

* * *

"I'm volunteering? What?" Dean snorted and shook his head quickly as if he'd heard wrong, and he got the eyebrow of doom in return from Ellen. "When I said I could pay, this isn't exactly what I meant." All that bought him was another hard stare. He appealed to Jo with a sideways glance, but she just rolled her eyes at him. "Fine, fine. Lemme get dressed then." Actually, Dean could think of a lot of worse jobs than mopping. He wouldn't be covered in any disgusting substances or suffer serious injury by the time he was finished... hopefully. With Ash MIA, someone had to pick up the slack, he supposed. 

He just didn't want to leave Sam's side, not for a minute. It was ridiculous if he could look at it from the outside: Dean Winchester all goo-goo eyed, touchie-feelie, Hallmark moment, joined-at-the-hip in love with anyone. He'd better buck up or his pregnant brother was going to kick his ass for being so unmanly. Straightening his spine, Dean went to meet the business end of the mop. 

* * *

"Charlie already cleaned the kitchen," Jo retorted, "except for the deep fryer 'cuz someone," she tipped her head at the door Dean had disappeared behind again, "stole the grease bucket." Before she went too far with a few other choice remarks that would probably get her slapped, Jo ruefully nodded that it was indeed her job to care for Sam, should he need it. "Before he cut out, Charlie gave instructions." Medications, too, but she didn't mention those. So far this morning, there had been no indication of nausea that she's heard. If Sam really was pregnant, which she also refrained from mentioning, she'd have expected morning sickness, although that could happen at other times of the day, too. 

Once Dean reappeared, this time fully dressed, half-sheepish and half 'guess what I just did' cocky swagger, Jo slipped into the room to assess her patient. Sam was sleeping on his back, covers pulled up to his chin. Being asleep took years off him, made him look sweet and innocent in a way she'd never known in the man. Besides having over a foot in height and nearly double her body weight in muscle and bone, Sam had this air about him that Dean, while certainly no one to mess with, didn't. Sam was dangerous. All hunters were, but with him, Jo summed it up as that plus arrogance, ego, a certain self-centeredness and disdain of others to where only Sam mattered to Sam. Maybe Dean... and maybe Dean was just a stepping stone for him, she was never sure.

Maybe this was the Sam that Dean saw, the Sam Dean loved: almost angelic, not twisted and tarnished by demonic influence. Sam shifted, stretching one arm above his bed-head like a sleepy baby. Any second he could wake. No doubt he had hunter instincts like his brother, and Jo didn't plan to get caught staring at him. There was a chair in the corner, across from the foot of the bed; Jo plunked down in it and prepared to sit watch till Sam needed something. 

* * *

"You heard me," Ellen snapped at Dean before he vanished inside to get dressed. She'd put him to work on her truck later. Although she considered herself a capable enough mechanic, Dean played in an entirely different league when it came to fixing cars. However, with Charlie gone in addition to Ash, she really needed help with the bar first. It was an unspoken law that those who found shelter at the Roadhouse worked for it. Dean was aware of it and except for maybe a little manly posturing she didn't expect resistance.

A minute later, Dean reappeared, dressed, and Jo entered the room. If Dean didn't look convinced leaving his brother alone, Ellen knew that Jo would alert them if anything at all needed attention with Sam.

"Come on, then," she said and led the way. She'd already put the chairs on the tables herself the night before and swiped the worst off the floor. Mopping had been planned to be hers and Charlie's job for the morning, but that's what happened to plans, after all, they always got thwarted.

Ellen showed Dean the cleaning gear, then waited if he had questions. Not that the cleaning needed any explanations but there could always be other things. For the time being, there didn't seem to be anything pressing on Dean's mind, so she excused herself to go check on Jo and Sam, promising to have a decent breakfast ready for the brothers – or at least one of them, pending Sam's state.

When she returned to the guest room, she was surprised to find the door closed. She entered without knocking since there wasn't the slightest chance of surprising Sam and Jo in a potentially embarrassing situation. What she found upon entering did surprise her, though: Sam was asleep and Jo was lounging on a chair.

"I'm pretty sure that Charlie's instructions covered what to do if Sam is unwell but I don't think they require you watching him sleep peacefully. Actually, Dean might object to that," Ellen suggested. "If what you said they were doing earlier is true – and I'm strongly inclined to believe it – he strikes me as the jealous type."

She watched Jo tense up and continued before her daughter opened her mouth, "The good thing coming from your brief vigil here is that you now know where the grease bucket is."

* * *

Apparently Ellen was serious. Dean's sluggish brain had convinced him she was bullshitting about making him mop, but she was all business. Following her, he decided to keep his mouth zipped about what he'd considered more... suitable work for himself around the place: tending bar, fixing stuff on their cars, even cooking. But no, Ellen was going to put him in his place. If that was what it took to keep them here with Sam under Dr. Charlie's care, then Dean had no choice. Well, it was nothing he hadn't done before. Since his early teens until Sam had run away to Stanford, Dean had worked plenty of odd jobs to keep them fed and Sam in whatever he needed for school. 

He let Ellen show him the closet-like storage room where they stashed the cleaning supplies. She had a specific order she wanted things done, and Dean memorized it to make sure he wouldn't have to repeat his tasks. Nodding his understanding, he filled the mop bucket. Ellen watched him for a minute, chewing on her lower lip and shifting foot to foot like she might start in about why they were really here or their... noise level, but when Dean looked up again, she'd vanished. 

Shrugging, he rolled the mop bucket to the center of the barroom floor. The place wasn't huge but this would take a while. Hunters might be downright persnickety about their gear, artifacts, weapons and lore, but otherwise they were notoriously sloppy drunks. Spilled beer and liquor proved it. Then there were the vestiges of Sam's constant horking to clean up. After that, Dean decided he'd better change the mop-water, which was downright disgusting. So far, no one had called him and he hadn't heard anything from the two women beyond a few indistinct murmurs. No news was usually good news, but Dean didn't like his brother being out of his sight. Only one thing for it – he mopped faster. 

* * *

Naturally, Ellen couldn't let her have a half-hour to herself. Once Jo had taken Sam's measure to assure herself he wasn't in immediate distress as well as the extra perusal which she herself had cut short for either fear or respect of Dean's temper, she'd zoned out, staring off into space till Ellen walked in demanding her explanation. Though she'd done nothing wrong – technically – Jo felt her ears turning pink over her mother's insinuation she was displaying voyeuristic behavior. Rather than protest, Jo got up and walked out of the room, taking the grease bucket with her. 

Once out in the hall, she asked Ellen, "We got another one somewhere? He's fine now. But he could wake up nauseous again since he conked out, uh, before I could give him pills or anything." They had mixing bowls and various large plastic storage containers for food prep, but most of them were in use on any given day and they didn't usually keep old junk they didn't need – both space and money was tight. 

* * *

When Jo asked her if they had another grease bucket in case Sam got sick again, Ellen gave her daughter a sharp look and returned to wordlessly fetch the plastic bin from the bathroom and set it next to the bed. "Show me the pills," she demanded. Jo did and Ellen recognized them. "Let's leave the door open so we can hear when he wakes up." Jo complied and walked off to the kitchen while Ellen returned to the bar and started scrubbing at the counter.

* * *

Charlie had a hard time pulling his thoughts away from the Winchesters and concentrating on the road. When he'd delivered the samples to Carlisle, he hadn't given any explanation and only asked for priority processing. Carlisle's eyebrows had gone up but he hadn't asked any questions, for which Charlie was grateful. He knew he'd need the other doctor's help eventually, but he wouldn't betray Dean Winchester's confidence by letting Carlisle in on the diagnosis, at least not unless Sam's life was in immediate danger. Carlisle had agreed to fax him the lab report as soon as it came in, and Charlie hoped that the first results would already be waiting for him when he arrived back at the Roadhouse.

Despite his curiosity, he decided to check on Sam first of all, also before facing Dean Winchester, who'd been put to work by Ellen. Sam was asleep, but woke up immediately when Charlie spoke to him. He admitted to feeling queasy, so Charlie made him swallow a few pills and suggested that his stomach would benefit from some food. Sam didn't look convinced but Charlie assured him that he'd feel better in a few minutes once the meds kicked in. 

The fax tray was empty. Charlie found Jo in the kitchen where she was scrubbing the grease bucket. The scowl on her face almost made him flee again right away, so he just announced that Sam was doing okay and food would be a good idea. Ellen, who was also in the kitchen, promised she'd take care of breakfast and that he should go speak with Dean, like he'd intended anyway.

Dean didn't look any happier than Jo when Charlie found him with a bucket and mop in hand, but Dean's expression changed immediately when Charlie entered and addressed him. "He's up. He's much better than last night and I gave him something for nausea to keep it that way. Breakfast will do him good and so will the shower I'd bet he's taking this very minute," Charlie offered. "And then, you and Sam should consider how to proceed regarding keeping Sam's condition a secret. I won't tell anything but you should know that the walls have ears here."

* * *

Jo, busy cleaning up the vestiges of last night's late rush and clenching her teeth to keep from spewing a bunch of angry word-vomit, a state she seemed to be in much of the time, looked up long enough to acknowledge Charlie's presence. She didn't offer any comment or question on their guests, however. The one thing that offered her any comfort was that she knew the real reason behind Sam's 'illness', something it seemed her mother didn't, not yet.

Mother-daughter dynamics were often... difficult. During her short time in the real world, Jo had seen other girls – young women – seeming in constant battle or competition with their moms. Clothes, make-up, money, the attention of males both related and not versus hunting and all its related secrecy and lies: at least she finally understood it wasn't just them, but that didn't make dealing with Ellen any easier. What if she, Jo, had managed to get knocked up by one of the Winchesters? Oh, Ellen would rant and rave and probably threaten her with a coat hanger, but in the end, Ellen would probably decide to keep it and raise the kid as her own, whether Jo consented or not. After a moment of despair, Jo straightened up and decided that, though it would never happen to her, a Winchester baby would be one thing she'd have the balls to stand up to her mother about. 

And what of Sam? Chances were the brothers weren't looking past how that baby got made in the form of repeating the, er, gesture, and Sam's puke-fest across five states. It probably hadn't really hit either of them yet. Jo's studies of human anatomy, both normal and abnormal, led her to conclude that if it were an abdominal pregnancy, it couldn't last much longer without killing the carrier. The fourth month saw significant growth in the fetus and it would literally suck the life out of Sam's blood supply, extending vessels into his digestive tract where they were never meant to be. In a word, she was worried. Very worried. Really, it should be removed before his life was at stake, but she couldn't see either of the... fathers... agreeing. Dean had been a womanizing drifter all his post-pubescent life, but when it came to Sam, Jo was sure of his commitment. 

And if not, she would kick his freckled ass herself. 

* * *

Charlie returned, saying he'd checked on Sam who was awake and probably hungry. Other than that, the doctor didn't have much to relay. He must've been up at the butt crack of dawn to get to Sioux Falls and back. In the ER, the few times Dean had been there, they could do blood work fast, something he and his father always had to consider back in the day, between John's drinking and whatever black market pills they'd put into their systems for pain or infection. It was always a game of beat the clock. Though he wasn't sure, Dean guessed that Sam's tests would take more time. He just hoped that Charlie's bloodsucker-on-call was trustworthy. At the moment, they had no other options if they wanted to stay hidden. 

When he'd finished the floor, Dean wheeled the mop bucket back to the supply closet, dumped the water down the drain, and found his way back to their room. He got a glimpse of Jo in the kitchen and decided not to mess with her. She had a look of fierce determination on her face, shoulders set under her flannel shirt. After the earlier song-and-dance routine at their door, Dean wondered why she hadn't stayed with Sam. Maybe Sam had shooed her out for some reason, or Charlie might have told her to go when he returned. Maybe, he thought slyly, she didn't want to be around Sam when he was covered in their spunk. Anyone with a nose could've smelled sex at fifty feet. Knowing how bad she'd crushed on him, Dean quelled the thought after a half-second of gloating. He didn't need to be a brat about it. Much. 

"Hey, Sam. Did'ja miss me?" he asked, opening the door to their room and striding in. Charlie had mentioned a shower and Dean wasn't exactly squeaky clean himself, though he kind of doubted he'd get to do much but be Ellen's personal slave today. 

* * *

Sam's face lit up when he re-entered their room from the shower and found Dean just arriving. "Missed ya," he admitted. "But you surely didn't miss me, what with me reeking like week-old shifter skin." He crinkled his nose in disgust. The Winchesters were used to making their showers quick ones, just like the one he'd taken earlier: you just never knew how long the water, even cold, would last or when the cops would have figured out their ID's were fake or whatever. This time, however, after two days of puking and sweating, Sam didn't even scoff at the cream soap Ellen seemed to like for her guests – thank goodness it didn't smell flowery, but Sam guessed that even that wouldn't have stopped him when he scrubbed himself down not one but two times. The water draining from the sink looked gray, which was an improvement over showers after fighting when there was usually enough blood to turn the color into brownish or at least pink, but it was still bad enough for him to decide that a third round of soap was in order.

Sam still felt drained when he left the shower, but it was drained and clean, which was way better than only ten minutes ago. Also, the medication Charlie had provided had settled his stomach that had been starting to rebel again. He yet may prefer to not go on a tough hunt before breakfast, but in the frame of what was normal for a Winchester, the day wasn't too bad. And it immediately got much better when Dean came into their room. Or not?

How was it possible that after all the love he'd received from his brother, Sam still felt apprehensive. Had Sam forced Dean into chick flick moments with his gooey eyes when all Dean wanted was get off and be done? There was no question in Sam's mind that Dean loved him, and there was nothing wrong with getting off and being done with it; they were guys, after all. But Sam had been emotionally needy and putting emotions out in the open, well it was something Dean simply didn't do. Of course all of this could be easily blamed on Sam's _condition_ – yet another thing he wasn't too happy to think about, but he had to, eventually. No, actually, _they_ had to. And not eventually but soon.

"Dean," Sam said as he approached his brother and pulled him into a bear hug. He was wearing only a robe he'd found in the bathroom, but it was a thick and warm piece of clothing of the kind he and Dean would never own, and he felt almost more dressed wearing it than in some of his more threadbare shirts. Now, that was a thought to hang on to. If there was anything Dean hated more than admitting to emotions it was _talking._ Since practical issues mattered, too, Sam decided to put 'the talk' on hold for another little while.

"Do you think Ellen will let us use her washing machine?"

* * *

With wet hair and wrapped in a pristine white bathrobe so utter unlike anything they owned in this life, Sam was just leaving the adjoining bathroom when Dean walked in. He squinched up his face in memory of the layers of bodily fluids and dirt he accumulated in the last few days. It was the kind of face that old grandmas told kids not to make, or it would stay like that. Cute and yet creepy at the same time. Dean couldn't forget their fairly recent case, and he paused to wonder where in the world that kid Jesse had landed himself, powerful little antichrist that he was. 

"Yeah, I missed you, too, stench and all," Dean told him. Sam, seeming more relaxed than he'd been for a long time, pulled him into a long hug. Safety might be an illusion, but Dean also felt a sort of relief at being here. He held on tight: as always, Sam felt so good against his body. Right now he smelled like soap and clean skin, warm and solid. After a minute, as Dean started to wonder if he pressed in harder he'd be able to feel anything growing under the skin and muscle of Sam's abdomen, his brother pulled back. The look on his face said "we need to talk", but after a long hesitation, Sam only asked about their laundry situation. 

"Uh... I hope she'll let us," Dean answered. "I'll ask when I run into her again. She better, unless she wants to either smell us and not in a good way, or provide us with new wardrobes. Somehow, I doubt that. I might have to pay her in trade... as in, chores," he hurried to add. Even before he and Sam were together, he'd never once thought of Ellen 'like that'. No. Not. Nada. He considered Charlie a very brave man indeed – unless he was a eunuch – given his bed partner. That line of thought could just end now and never be revisited again. 

But speaking of... "Doc tell you anything yet?" Dean sat down on their rumpled bed. He supposed they'd have to wash the sheets, too. "I... I keep thinking we should be able to see or feel something. Can you yet?" His eyes darted to Sam's waist. 

* * *

Dean let himself be held for a minute, but Sam could feel his brother squirming, if not – yet – in his body, then in his mind. Dean offered to ask Ellen about doing laundry and Sam opened his mouth to suggest he could ask her while Dean showered, but when Dean brought up Charlie and the... Sam's condition, laundry suddenly became the last thing Sam was interested in.

"Doc gave me pills and said I should try some breakfast," he attempted to stall, but Dean asked if he could _feel_ something. Already when they'd still been working the case in Elko Dean had asked about 'movements'. Sam had fired up his laptop to find out more about pregnancy in general – scared shitless, but admitting to himself that he'd have to sooner or later, so why not take the bull by its horns? – and deduced from the browser history that Dean had already done his research, so he assumed they were on the same level. 

"I'm not feeling anything except my bladder and my stomach, but from what I read on the net I shouldn't expect more for quite some time yet. Most sites say that first movement – is that what you're asking for? – usually cannot be felt before 16 to 22 weeks, and even later if it's the first child." Sam swallowed. "I hope it's later in my case." He shuddered. "I can barely stand the thought of something growing in me, but something alive..."

Aware that he was about to suffer another panic attack, Sam forced his mind back to the housekeeping issue. "Look, why don't you take a shower. You may not reek as bad as I did a few minutes ago, but you're not exactly smelling like roses either. There's another one of these," he pointed at the bathrobe he was wearing, "and I'll go ask Ellen about laundry meanwhile." They'd run out of clean clothes already back in Elko and Sam would rather fight an army of clowns than put on his filthy underwear.

Not really waiting for an answer in case Dean wanted to pursue the pregnancy subject, Sam fled. On his search for Ellen, he passed by the kitchen – and gave it wide berth when he noticed the scowl on Jo's face – and continued until he found Ellen and Charlie in the bar. Charlie gave him a sharp look and apparently liked what he saw in terms of health because he nodded and told him and Ellen that he'd see about breakfast.

Left alone with Ellen, Sam suddenly felt shy again. "Um," he he began, "I guess I should have asked you this before taking a shower, but do you think we could use your washing machine?"

Her hands on her hips, Ellen stared at him for what felt like at least several hours before the corners of her mouth started twitching. "You better go ahead and launder your stuff as quick as you can," she said, visibly fighting against the laughter threatening to break out. "We'll all appreciate it, in particular your doctor. Surgeons and dirt don't mix well," she joked before turning serious again. "That goes for your brother as well."

Sam suddenly remembered what Ellen had heard and smelled earlier in their room. 

"Uh, yes, thank you. I think I'll go get our clothes then..." 

He fled. It was only when he returned from the Impala carrying their duffels that he noticed he should have asked where the machine actually was. Well, that was what older brothers were for, Sam decided. He returned to their room and waited for Dean to finish his shower.


	3. Chapter 3

Huh. Though they were here, now, for a specific reason, Sam shied away once again from discussing 'it'. Mentally shrugging, Dean decided he wouldn't bring it up again – he'd wait till Sam initiated that topic of conversation. Yes, Dean had been online furtively and he'd had to live through the requisite high school classes that touched on reproduction. Between the two, he felt like he'd got only the extreme opposite ends of the spectrum. Sam's wasn't exactly a normal pregnancy. Chances were that everything about it would be groundbreaking. 

So, like it or not, Dean let Sam go find Ellen to figure out about the laundry situation while he cleaned up. The hot water heater in this version of the Roadhouse must have a top-of-the-line model. Dean enjoyed a leisurely, thorough wash and was tempted to rub one out, but he refrained, wanting to make the most of any opportunities he and Sam might have to express their physical love. When the small room filled with enough steam to make it hard to breathe, he reluctantly shut off the tap and stepped out onto the bath mat of thick terrycloth. 

Like Sam had said, there was another bathrobe hanging on a hook on the back of the door. It had an interesting square pattern in the weave, not that Dean noticed stuff like that, and the overall feel was both soft and crisp at the same time. It sure beat the hell out of clothes that stank to high heaven and were stiff with sweat and god-knew-what. He decided to stay in the robe though it was an odd feeling, almost what he figured wearing a dress must feel like but free in the breeze underneath. It occurred to him just then that Sam hadn't put his filthy clothes back on either. Jeez, his little brother, who usually was covered in over-sized, even for him, baggy layers possibly to keep from being hit on solely on the merits of his physique, free-balling it. Dean knew the general feeling although there wasn't much he could do about his face besides – now – keep it covered in stubble and scowl a lot. He'd had to learn to deal with unwanted attention at a very young age. Sam wasn't going to see much of that around here at this hour... but still, the ladies of the house would be able to discern the sensuous curve of Sam's ass, see a V-shaped section of his chest or even make out the subtle bulk of his junk below the front panels. 

Dammit. Dean didn't know whether to be jealous or horny. He'd better stop either way unless he wanted to be wearing a tent instead of a robe. Flopping down on the bed, he waited for Sam. 

Only seconds later, his brother returned lugging their duffels, and damned if his robe wasn't dangerously askew and open nearly to the waist from the weight of one strap and clumsy off-centeredness of the second bag. Being barefoot probably didn't help. Immediately Sam demanded that Dean locate where the washer and dryer unit was located, which made him grin because, shouldn't Sam have asked that, and not just IF they could use it? Ellen must have flustered him, big time. Once again, Dean was back to the dilemma of jealous or horny, though he could also throw in 'amused' this time. 

He took too long to answer, apparently. It was difficult to use his words when he was trying to – and trying not to – ogle his brother. "Fine, fine," he replied, seeing as Sam was about to bitchface on him. Dean sauntered out of the room. He regretted it but he'd just have to man up. Now they were going to see his legs, his stupid bowlegs with their weirdly and unevenly overcompensating calf muscles. No one got to look at that except Sam. Maybe he should say, 'have to'. It was bad enough in jeans. Face already flaming, Dean rounded the corner to the cleaning and supply closet and ran smack into Ellen.

"Sorry!" He jumped back about three feet, then forward again when he realized he'd knocked her off-balance. When he went to steady her, Ellen gripped his upper arm with surprising force for a moment, then pretty much pushed him away. When Dean looked down at himself, he found his attire had been jostled into pretty much the same state Sam's had been in a moment ago. "Son of a bitch!" he burst out. "How does anyone wear these things?" 

* * *

Ellen was on her way to the room where she kept the washer and dryer to check on supplies, smiling grimly when she considered that the Winchesters would likely need a lot of soap. What she didn't expect when she turned the corner was ending up with one of the brothers pretty much in her arms.

"Gently, Bentley," she steadied Dean, who immediately stepped back as far as he could without smacking into the adjacent wall. What was it with these boys being so on the edge? A closer look revealed that he'd blushed beet red – not only his face but the parted bathrobe he was wearing revealed a – nice – pink chest. Dean realized it at the same time as Ellen that most of his front was exposed, courtesy of the belt of the bathrobe slipping to the floor.

It took all the power she could muster to not burst out into loud laughter, but, amused as she was, she sensed that Dean's dignity would not survive such a reaction. Pulling herself together, her eyes met his before she declared dead pan, "By keeping that belt firmly tightened. But I suppose that's not why you're skulking around in this part of the house. What can I do your you?"

* * *

What the fuck? Dean had no clue what high-end British cars had to do with him nearly exposing his important bits to Ellen. Ears and face burning, he grabbed the front of his gaping robe, holding it closed while he bent down to retrieve the stupid belt, which had somehow worked its way loose and dropped unceremoniously at his feet. How undignified!

He almost retorted... probably something juvenile and non-sensical ("You're a Bentley!" was the only thing that came to mind) but one did not snap at Ellen, especially when she was the main reason for them having shelter and medical care for Sam. Dean fought down his irritation. "Sam's enormous brain isn't working at full strength this morning," he began, going partially for sympathy but still with a slight insinuation that (1) Sam didn't just have an enormous _brain_ , and (2) Dean might be somewhat responsible for the malfunction. "When he asked for permission to use the laundry room, he forgot to ask where it is. So, uh, where is it?" This was so uncomfortable! Any second, Jo would appear and giggle over his predicament, he just knew it. Dean shifted his bare feet on the floorboards like some grade school kid who needed the bathroom. 

* * *

Finally done with the kitchen clean-up, Jo ducked down the hall toward her room in time to see Dean cringing in front of her mother. Uh-oh, what had he done? More loud sexy-times? She had heard nothing of the sort, but she'd been otherwise occupied for more than an hour. Creeping up behind him, Jo consciously fine-tuned her hearing to listen in. Nothing interesting, just mundane crap. No surprise, the Winchesters were out of clean clothes. The boys sharing washing chores in ubiquitous launderettes across the country had to be nothing short of entertainment: the two of them bitching at each other, playing 'hot potato' with dirty underwear, sometimes stinking up the place with whatever monster blood, guts, or other fluids they'd managed to bedeck themselves in most recently... 

Most recently now happened to be Sam's puke. They lived out of one duffel apiece, god knew how, so there wasn't much in the way of spare clothes, obviously. Jo's eyes traveled down Dean's incredibly well-proportioned back. Mm, freshly-showered, too. His hair was still wet, sticking together in short spikes. "I'll show you the way," she answered his question. It was incredibly satisfying that he jerked at the sound of her voice. "Never thought you'd be caught dead in one of those," she snorted. "Nice legs." Jo just laughed at Dean's death-glare. It wasn't nearly so threatening when he was naked but for one thin unfamiliar garment and utterly self-conscious. 

But only for a second, so it had to be Ellen's presence that was making him so jumpy. "Like what you see, sweetheart?" he drawled, turning in Jo's direction. "Keep dreaming. Now," he ordered, making his voice flat and dead-sounding, "take me to your laundry." 

* * *

Clueless as to what had Dean worked up into a blushing and stammering mess, Ellen decided to ignore his state. Just as she was about to point Dean to the laundry room, Jo appeared and he turned his attention to her. Ellen almost pitied Dean for putting himself at the sharp end of her daughter's tongue, but they were both adults and if it came to blows she was expected to back up her family. She shrugged them off as she left to return to the kitchen. 

* * *

In Jo's peripheral vision, Ellen's retreating back spoke volumes: She had better things to do than mediate the verbal tennis match between a pair of older-than-average adolescents, or something to that effect. 

"Alright, then... this way." It certainly wasn't like they had the facilities under lock and key. Jo wondered why Dean hadn't simply prowled around the place till he found the machines and dumped their clothes in. If this was a new, nicer Dean, she wasn't convinced she liked it. Her days were busy enough between work and chores. Running a business took a lot of effort and energy. Technically, it was Ellen's business, but Jo was expected to pitch in... or else. "Or get out" wasn't even on the table, just as it hadn't been three years ago when she'd tried. Walking the short path past the kitchen, Jo wondered if she was doomed to spend her life in the Roadhouse, probably single and childless. Not that she was ready to settle down – not hardly! She felt like she hadn't sown any of her wild oats yet. Her parents had been together for more than a decade before her dad's death, and they'd had a kid, her. Would Ellen try to keep her from that one day, too, as well as from hunting?

Pushing those thoughts aside, Jo waved Dean into the room near the back door that contained the washer and dryer and additional storage. They kept extra linens in there, boxes of sample-sized soap and shampoo for the guest rooms, and some overflow of canned goods from the kitchen. "There's your new best friend," she deadpanned. "I assume you know what to do with it." 

* * *

Though he'd have sworn she – physically or metaphorically – rolled her eyes at them, Ellen took off without a word leaving Dean with another woman who had no particular love for him these days. They were hunter-family but not blood; it hadn't been an issue before but he felt like he had to walk on eggshells now, and Dean didn't do good behavior. Jo's tight little ass in her jeans as she walked in front of him would have made him look twice any other time. Well, fine, he looked. Aesthetically, it was near perfect, in terms of what he had always gone for. It wasn't Sam's, though, and for that reason, of no real interest. Besides, even if he was free, doing anything about it would only cause a truckload of trouble and probably a shotgun in his face.

They had a few more settings than he was used to, but otherwise the machines looked easy enough. "Yeah, Jo, I know what to do." Out of habit more than anything, Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Yeah, well, don't get any stupid ideas about the spin cycle," Jo retorted.

Dean snorted. "Don't need it." 

"Yeah. We all know that. Loudly and definitively," Jo informed him, just in case he had any lingering illusions there was any real privacy in this place. "Sam's a screamer, huh?" 

Unable to kelp a self-satisfied leer, Dean felt his face turn red again but managed, "So would you be if..." 

* * *

What the heck was taking Dean so long? It surely couldn't take fifteen minutes to find Ellen and ask for the laundry room. Okay, maybe it was thirteen minutes... or ten... since Dean had left, but Sam felt himself getting impatient and decided to see for himself what was taking so long.

The first thing he saw when he approached the corridor where he assumed the household section was was Dean walking behind Jo. With his eyes trained firmly on Jo's butt.

Clenching his teeth when the weird sense of possession he'd already perceived earlier returned, he followed them but didn't make himself known yet. Some soft mumbling was going on, but when he came closer, Sam could clearly hear Jo commenting that he, Sam, was a screamer. He held his breath and waited for Dean's response, which was, "So would you be if..."

It was all he needed to hear. So this was how Dean planned to fulfill his promise of never leaving Sam. Sam turned and ran – make that an attempt to run: he'd barely turned around the corner when he bumped into Charlie. 

The doctor steadied him and gave him a curious look. Sam fled before Charlie could open his mouth. 

* * *

Not sure what was happening, Charlie watched Sam disappear. If he felt sick, wouldn't he have said something? Hearing voices from around the corner, Charlie saw Dean and Jo arguing. Maybe they had an idea of what was going on. In any event, he'd come here to announce that breakfast was ready. He'd just get Sam a moment later.

"Hiya," he said, a little warily in reaction to their smoldering looks as he approached. "If you're still hungry, we can eat now. Ellen is laying the table as we speak and the food is ready."

* * *

When Sam stormed off, a part of him wanted to yell and rage at Dean and the other wanted to break out in tears. What the fuck was going on with him? He returned to their room and splashed cold water on his face. So yes, he knew that pregnant women were said to be prone to become emotional, but he wasn't a girl. Yet his hormone levels were apparently off the charts and if this was how he was going to feel for the following months...

The thought alone filled him with dread. Suddenly, his foremost worry wasn't that he may have to share Dean with Jo but that he may lose his beloved brother to her. Then again, maybe that would be for the best: maybe Jo loved Dean so much that she'd volunteer to raise his child...

Suddenly, Sam sat up straight. Dean had suggested that Sam should stay with their son or daughter and return to school while Dean continued hunting. That plan was completely ignoring the risk of what could – and would – happen if anyone found out how this child had been conceived. If, on the other hand, they could find someone to adopt him or her, he and Dean could continue living their life, _saving people, hunting things, the family business_ and not risk that of their unborn child.

The thought of giving the babe up hurt already, but he needed to speak with Dean about this. If Dean could be made to take his eyes off Jo's butt, that was...

* * *

Whatever was going on between Sam, Dean, and Jo, there was one thing Charlie was sure of: that he had absolutely no intention of getting caught in the middle of it. Unlike Ellen, he thought of Jo as an adult and more than capable of fighting her own fights. If it came to the worst, he thought dryly, his clinic was well stocked for picking up the pieces. He'd better not voice this thought, though, since Ellen would come to the defense of her daughter and being caught in the middle of _that_ fight could only end with him looking for another place to stay.

So how could he contribute to keeping things civil, Charlie wondered. He'd got the distinct impression that Sam wasn't too keen on his brother's proximity right this moment. On the other hand, he could relate to Dean wanting to start the laundry before breakfast – the robe Dean was wearing would not exactly make him look unappealing to Jo if Charlie read the signs right, which was the last thing, presumably, to Sam's liking. If he could somehow rope Jo in...

Used to making quick decisions in an emergency setting, Charlie came up with a plan. If he could get Jo to help _Sam_ with the laundry while he took Dean aside, the three of them would meet only at the breakfast table. Charlie considered it unlikely that even Dean Winchester would start a fight under Ellen's eyes. He wasn't so sure about Sam, but the reason he wanted to take Dean aside was to ask if they should announce Sam's condition to Ellen and Jo. Making that announcement would – hopefully – distract them from whatever else was going on right now.

"Jo, could you go talk to Sam and show him to the laundry room? And Dean, could I have a word with you, in private?"

* * *

Somewhere nearby, Dean could smell, breakfast was cooking. Not having had a decent meal since Elko, his salivary glands and hungry belly took over. Bacon, pancakes, eggs, hash browns... he was so preoccupied over the concept of food, he nearly proceeded around Charlie when the man waylaid him before they reached the kitchen or any sort of dining area. Oddly, he more or less ordered Jo to have Sam, rather than Dean, start the laundry. Jo seemed to find this strange too, or so said the look on her face, but she gave a nod and reversed her direction. 

Charlie must have some new information about Sam's condition. "What is it, man? Did you get test results back?" Dean asked in a lowered voice. He was starting to feel like the little kid who whines, 'Are we there yet?' every twenty minutes on a long drive.

* * *

Both Jo and Dean were surprised by Charlie's request. Jo complied immediately and left, which left Charlie with Dean, who looked worried and asked if there were news on Sam's condition.

"No, not yet. My colleague," he wouldn't mention names with Dean, "promised to email or fax me the lab results as soon as they're in. Since I asked him to make sure to not draw any attention, this may take a little time, but I don't expect anything more out of the ordinary than the whole situation is already."

Charlie looked at Dean before continuing. "Now, I guess I needn't tell you that Ellen and Jo are very special women. Unless you and Sam leave the Roadhouse very soon – and I mean today or tomorrow – they'll quickly figure out that there's something strange going on with Sam." He hesitated. "I rather like my balls where they are, if you get my meaning, and the best way to ensure that is to tell them about Sam as quickly as possible. Breakfast may be a good opportunity – if there's any such thing. What do you think?"

* * *

The overwhelming, life-long Winchester doctrine of secrecy almost made Dean give a flat 'no' in response to Charlie's question.It was – still – difficult to get around his father's training. He knew the doctor was right, that neither woman was going to just let some mysterious medical treatment ride without demanding to know more. Ultimately, though, it wasn't Dean's decision, just as was the case for any pregnant... person. "If it were up to me, I'd say let 'em wonder – and get yourself a steel-reinforced cup. But that's up to Sam. It's his body."

* * *

Jo knocked twice, then walked into the guest room. If Sam wasn't decent, that was his problem. He had no business lopping around at this hour unless his 'condition' was still making him really sick, in which case he had better be in bed – covered. She expected what she'd heard Dean call 'bitchface' or maybe he'd just gather their clothes and make a fuss about it. "Sam, Charlie sent me to..." 

The words died in her mouth. Sam was wearing the other robe, seated on the bed, the look on his face shining with such a mixture of tenderness and anguish, hope and fear that she couldn't stand it more than a few seconds. Any more and she might tear up, and that would be totally unacceptable. Directing her gaze at the wall behind him, she cleared her throat and managed a few clipped words, "Laundry. Bring it along." That was just too brusque, even for hunters. How he could even be vaguely alright, she couldn't fathom, other than they had to keep going, keep living. "Is everything... are you okay?" she ventured. 

* * *

"Thank you _so_ much for your concern," Charlie growled. "May I ask you to buy one for me when you order yours? OK," he sighed, "why don't you repair to the bar and help Ellen with breakfast. I'll go find Sam and see if I can speak to him without Jo around."

* * *

A knock on the door announced a visitor that wasn't Dean. Jo entered the room without waiting, both of which made Sam's anger flare up again after a second in which he felt nothing but pure misery. "What?" he snarled. She asked him to bring their laundry. He'd already gathered everything that needed washing. It was quite a pile, and although he wasn't too friendly inclined toward Jo at this moment, he was still grateful for the opportunity of clean clothes.

Then she asked if he was okay, and Sam didn't know how to respond. A nasty little voice in his head suggested that the question wasn't asked out of concern but to ensure that he was no competition in her quest for Dean. On the other hand, her voice sounded sincere and Jo didn't know he and Dean were... whatever they were. Or had been. Threatened to tear up again, Sam tamped his emotions down with all force he could muster.

"I'm good," he said. "Just had a case of really bad shrimp. It could even have been a hex, but I'm better now, and I have you all to thank for it." Jo seemed puzzled by this and he continued before she could speak, "Yeah, you too, for letting me do laundry. Then again," Sam brought out his best smile, "maybe that's self-preservation from your side, but I won't blame you if it is. This stuff here," he nodded toward the duffels, "is pretty rank."

* * *

Okay, so Charlie wasn't as even-tempered as Dean had perceived him being, yesterday. So much for a little friendly sarcasm. Dean's mouth might've dropped open slightly as he stood in the hallway like some dummy as the other man walked stiffly away. He'd have to watch his mouth, so as not piss off Sam's best option for confidential, non-freak show medical care. At the same time, he was mildly annoyed that Charlie would ask him, Dean, for permission to tell the others when that wasn't his call at all. If Dean had said yes but Sam wanted it kept secret, it would have caused some major tension, maybe even a few cheap shots, verbal or otherwise. Perhaps Charlie assumed they'd already discussed it. Between the puking, sleeping and sex, they hadn't had time. In fact, when they'd come close to the subject, Sam hadn't seemed too keen on talking for once, and then they'd been interrupted. 

Deciding he'd chosen the lesser of two evils, Dean shrugged it off and headed off to the bar and the delicious smell of food. One thing he could do was cook. If he could prove himself to Ellen in that regard, maybe he'd spend more time behind a grill and less, a mop. The table Charlie had referred to as 'laid' (Dean snickered to himself)was two of the square wooden bar tables pushed together, steaming, heaping bowls in the middle with surprisingly civilized place settings for five around it. While he hadn't exactly expected they'd all eat standing up, using their fingers, it was a very rare thing for Dean to have a meal that wasn't in a diner booth or out of a cardboard container. He and Sam had done much more of it back when their dad would dump them in motels and crappy apartments by themselves. Fuzzy memories of early childhood surfaced, of his mom making him his then-favorites: waffles and PB&J. Shaking it off, he noticed Ellen nearby, doing that thing where she was pretending to ignore his presence, but actually keeping tabs on him out of the corner of her eye. 

"Need any help?" he volunteered. 

* * *

Jo raised her eyebrows. First Sam growled at her, and then a moment later, lied to her face. She'd expected some sort of refusal to answer, maybe that he'd tell her it was none of her business, but not an outright lie. "Bad shrimp, my ass," she muttered under her breath. If it had been food poisoning, he'd have been spewing from both ends but she wasn't about to go there. 

This was ridiculous. She'd just shown Dean the laundry room, and now she was about to repeat the tour with his brother. Grabbing one of the duffels, Jo looked up, way up, Sam was standing now, and told him, "Takes more than just rank to scare me. And it's not like we'll have to scrub these by hand on a washboard in the creek – we have electricity and running water and everything." 

Even now, she didn't like to be alone with the guy. He was just too huge, and then there was the time no one talked about. The brothers' matching tattoos – she could see a few of the little black sun rays peeking out along the edge of the robe – assured them protection from possession, but there were plenty of other ways an evil bastard could dupe the unsuspecting. Jo didn't think Sam was evil. Just... susceptible. Unpredictable. She took two steps backward before turning. "Let's get this show on the road already, follow me." Now she was determined to get at least the first load of washing started, and she kind of doubted if they cared much about sorting the colors. 

* * *

When Sam followed Jo to the laundry room, he found himself wishing fervently that every doctor he'd seen recently had made a mistake and all he was suffering from was indeed a particularly nasty case of bad shrimp. However, living his life under the Winchester curse, Sam knew that wishful thinking never got him anywhere. Since there was nothing he could do about his situation – or rather the only option that might exist was one he refused to even think about – he decided to be grateful for small favors like clean laundry.

In the laundry room, he stuffed as many of their clothes into the machine as Jo let him, then listened as she explained the settings to him. For some reason, the atmosphere between them was charged, and suddenly, it all became too much for him. So what, if Dean was after Jo – there was no doubt that she was after Dean – she deserved to know what she was getting herself into. Fuck keeping this a secret. If Dean really intended, as he'd suggested, to continue hunting while leaving Sam behind to raise their child, Sam would need any help he could get and whatever else they may be, the Harvelle women were fiercely loyal.

Jo was watching him as he slowly turned away from the washing machine to face her. "You... you asked how I was," he began haltingly, "and maybe I wasn't all that forthcoming earlier, but you'll understand in a moment. I know how this sounds and I also know that this isn't possible, but I'm... with child." He cast his eyes down.

* * *

Charlie shook his head when he went in search of Sam. It had been his impression, not only from the night before but also from anything he'd heard from Ellen and Jo, that between the Winchester brothers it was always Dean who made the important decisions. It was why he'd approached Dean rather than Sam, but apparently, this time Dean shied away from the decision whether or not to tell their hosts. 

When he arrived at the laundry room, however, he found out that Sam had made this decision for himself already and without consulting Dean: the words 'I'm with child', although insecure, were clearly heard from his position in the doorway. Debating with himself if he should announce his presence, he thought that it would be better to let the two hash things out between them first. If he caught Dean before breakfast, he'd relay what Sam had just told Jo, but otherwise, he'd leave it to Sam and Dean to make their news known.

Dean was in the bar helping Ellen with the table, so Charlie would keep his mouth shut for the time being.

* * *

What could she do but slowly nod her understanding. After his earlier tactic, Jo had figured that Sam would insist on saying nothing till he was hugely pregnant, if he got that far, and keep up some facade like that he was getting fat. But no, he'd spilled the beans, just like that: no lead-up and no visible regrets. "Should've known it would be something major," she finally said. "It tends to be, with you two. I'm assuming it's yours and Dean's." 

Something was 'off' in her response. Jo heard her own lack of warmth. She had a hard time being genuine, when she knew damned well how babies were made and what the brothers had been doing, probably like bunnies. Dean had never made any effort to hide his libido; Sam was probably just as bad, behind closed doors. When that demon bitch was taking him for a ride, she'd made quite a 'statement' about that. "Sorry, Sam. I mean... congratulations." That sounded stilted, too. "I guess that's why you're here, huh? Charlie. Prenatal care. Well," Jo decided to take the bull by the horns. "Maybe it's not my place, but you're welcome for the duration. If there's anything I can do for you... your baby..." 

She managed a smile, and hoped it didn't look like a grimace. None of this was the kid's fault. It was innocent. A baby, for Pete's sake. About the size of her thumb right now. Suddenly, a wave of fierce protectiveness washed over her, and Jo knew she'd do anything to keep it safe and healthy, if it was within her power, even tackling Sam and stuffing prenatal vitamins down his throat or keeping Dean off him or whatever. She only had one problem: it, the kid, wasn't hers, and in the end, if it lived through its gestation and birth, its... parents would drag it off into what kind of life? She would kick their collective balls into pancakes. 

Before Jo got too carried away with conflicting emotions, she blurted out, "I wonder if it's gonna come out freckled and bowlegged or huge and slant-eyed. Maybe all of that, oh my god. Whatcha think, Sam?" And she actually laughed. 

* * *

For yet another of the longest minutes of his life Sam was speechless, then it broke free. "What do I think?" he spat. "Well, here's what I think, and it couldn't be more different from what you seem to think. For one, maybe you hadn't noticed, I'm a guy. Blame my hair, but I'm not a girl. Guy, as in man. Dick, testicles. No womb or tits. No such thing like pregnancy happens to one of us and congratulations are _not_ in order!"

He drew in another breath and continued, "So, no, I did not spend a romantic evening with _my fucking brother_ and decided, 'oh yeah, let's get a kid so Sammy can play mom.' I repeat, guys don't get pregnant, not even when they get off with another guy – there you have it – as a result from a sex demon running rampant. Only, this," Sam swallowed, _"baby_ was conceived months before Dean and I – males, remember? – had our demon-induced round of man-on-man sex." 

He wasn't going to elaborate on having been a woman while he'd conceived. Anything that had happened later was none of anyone's business, least of all Jo's. Oh, her eyes were round with curiosity and she'd heard them this morning, but that topic wasn't up for discussion.

"As for whether it'll be freckled and bowlegged or huge or slant-eyed, I don't fucking care. Yeah, I'm assuming that it's Dean's too, because anything else would be just..."

Suddenly, the rage died down. "Jo," Sam said as first his voice then his whole body began to shake, "You've grown up in your body with the knowledge that you can carry a child. You've had like 20 years to get used to the concept. I've had four days and... Feel free to call me a coward but I haven't been so scared before in my whole fucking life..."

Sam turned his face toward the washing machine again. Breaking out in tears in front of Jo, of all people! As soon as Dean had finished breakfast, Sam would make sure they left the Roadhouse for good so he'd never in his life again have to face Joanna Beth Harvelle. It was what he'd intended after having been possessed by Meg and he should have fucking stuck to it.

* * *

"Fine! Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," Jo snarled. "And by that, I mean Dean. I seriously doubt you were 'induced' by a demon this morning, and yet you treated whoever might be on the premises to, might I remind you, some pretty fucking loud fucking! We thought you were dying, but no, that was little Sammy getting his rocks off." By now she was yelling, herself, and not out of any sort of pleasure. It seemed like several years' worth of anger and resentment inside her were channeling out through the diatribe spewing from her mouth.

Sam had turned his back to her as he went back to his chore, the coward, and she inhaled in breathless rage. So furious she was shaking, totally stung by his rejection of her offer of assistance and even tentative friendship, Jo flung at him."Oh, you don't care about your own kid, huh? You selfish bastard! Your precious dick and balls make you as much of the stuck-up asshole I always thought? Or is that just what you learned from your daddy? Why don't you spare us all the trouble and get an abortion?!" Jo screeched the ugly-sounding words as a weapon, then turned on her heel and stomped away, her boot heels making rapid thumps... to where, she didn't know. Her vision was blurred and she cursed herself for getting emotional, even attempting to care. No doubt she'd pay for those words. If Dean didn't kill her outright, Ellen would be have a few choice things to say. Even Charlie, for all his stand-offish demeanor which he liked to call professional distance, would look at her reproachfully, maybe even bar her from clinic duty altogether. 

Screw them all! As usual, Jo would get the shit end of the stick and she'd be expected to shut up and like it. Short of offering to raise the kid herself, which was another thing Ellen wouldn't 'allow' and which the Winchesters would probably shoot down in a heartbeat, she didn't know what to do. At this point, Jo was no longer the slightest bit interested in patient care of that oversized brat in the laundry room. She just wanted away from this place, and especially the people in it. Her first instinct was to take off at a dead run, but that was quickly ruled out. She had two knives and a pistol stashed on her person, not nearly enough. She'd be walking out with the clothes on her back and a few hundred in cash, again, a serious disadvantage. In her room, in the cellar, in a couple other strategic places around the Roadhouse, she'd stashed ten times that, enough to get a beater and a dumpy trailer in some no-name blip on the radar far from here. She'd just have to lay low for the day. Easier said than done when she wanted to wring someone's neck with her bare hands. 

* * *

Sam's hands clenched so hard that he was probably going to break his fingers. It didn't matter. "Fine," he hissed.

Storming from the laundry room, he found the rest of the Roadhouse's inhabitants including Dean seated at a large breakfast table. The smell of fried goods immediately made his stomach rebel but he managed to choke it down while he addressed his brother.

"Dean, get up. We're leaving. Now."

* * *

Ellen didn't have any jobs left for Dean to do other than carry a pot of coffee to the table, so he did that and sat down to stay out of her way. Then he quickly had to rearrange himself. The usual slouch-with-legs-spread-wide wasn't going to cut it in this get-up. The way he was built, crossing his legs wasn't comfortable at all. Dean shifted around, pulling at the robe and trying to keep everything decent. 

From what he assumed was the laundry room, he could hear Jo and Sam exchanging heated words, but not what they were saying, just one voice growing shriller and one growing gruffer, both increasing in volume. He tried to catch Ellen's eye, but she just shrugged as if to say that the children would have to fight their own battles.

Somewhere within the Roadhouse, a door banged and then Sam burst in, wide-eyed but also looking halfway between murderous and sick. Without any prelude, he demanded that they leave immediately. 

Dean's stomach protested with a loud growl. "What? No way, Sam, we just got here. We drove how many hundred miles to get here! Besides..." he gestured at the warm, fragrant, steaming food all around him, "look: breakfast. Homemade! Sit down and eat, you'll feel better." 

* * *

Sam forced himself to calm so he could speak, but when Dean told him to sit down and eat, he shook his head. "Am not, will not." The latter referred to getting better. He took a deep breath.

"I told Jo. And since she seems to assume that a man being pregnant is an everyday thing, I told her it isn't for me. And I..." Sam bit his lip and looked at the floor. "I admitted to being... kinda... scared by the whole thing."

The anger he'd felt at Jo's response to that returned as fury. "And you know what she said? That I should spare you all the trouble and get an abortion. Fine," he spat. "I'll spare you all the trouble! I'd rather die than kill it, but that's none of your concern any longer as I'm not staying in this place another minute."

He looked at his brother, his eyes pleading. "Dean...?"

* * *

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. Yes, he'd brought up the same thing to Sam, but only in what he hoped had been a sane and reasonable manner when they'd been discussing options for Sam's – their – future. Till just now, Dean hadn't known what Jo had said, but the venom in her tone had been unmistakable. Furthermore, he was more than aware of how the subject pained his brother. 

"Jesus! That bitch!" he jumped up, knocking over his chair in the process and striding over to Sam. Hesitating only a second, he wrapped his arms around his beyond-upset sibling and hoped he didn't get hit in the face for his efforts. Unsurprisingly, Sam's heart was pounding and he was cold to the touch but sweaty and trembling. "I'm so sorry that she... that she said... after you told her..." He could hardly get the words out. It was his kid, too! What was she thinking? Sam had bared his heart and the insufferable bitch had totally gone off the rails. He'd never known Jo to be heartless before.

"You'll do no such thing, we already decided," Dean restated the obvious. "I'm gonna go talk some sense into her fool head. No one said she has to like it, but she can be fucking civil! But Sam, we have to stay. Charlie... he'll take care of you. I mean, I will too, of course, only I'm no doctor."

Sam remained tense. From years of reading his brother's every response and emotion, Dean could tell Sam was implacable. In desperation, Dean wheeled away and stalked through the place, looking left and right into the rooms behind the bar but seeing no one. He burst through the back door beyond the storage rooms and found Jo pacing the scrubby excuse for a yard like a wolf in captivity, seething, hell, practically foaming at the mouth. Never had he been so tempted to hit a girl. Instead, he grabbed her by both arms and shoved her against the side of the building. "Look me in the eye," he snarled, "and tell me you didn't say what Sam says you did." 

* * *

It was only a matter of time. Jo knew someone would show up to get in her face; it was only a question of who first. Dean, red-faced and huffing, tried an intimidation tactic that might have scared her or turned her on till recently, but she was unimpressed. His grip bit into her flesh, would leave bruises. What were a few bruises compared to his shithead of a brother's words? "What, he's letting you defend him now? Did he also tell you what he said?" 

Dean's face took on a familiar 'huh?' expression that made him look like he'd dropped half his IQ points. Jo took the opportunity to yell at him, too. "No? Well try this on for size. And I quote: 'Congratulations are not in order'... and how the kid comes out, if it does? 'He doesn't fucking care.' The thing was conceived because of some sex demon, I don't even know...This? This is what you want to hook up with and have your child!? And now he's scared," she sneered. "Whatever! I offered to help and he threw it in my face. Since I'm not possessed of testicles, I'm not good enough for him, either!"

She didn't expect Dean to believe her over Sam, regardless of what had been said beyond his range of hearing, and he clearly didn't. The look of disgust he sent her hurt worse than Sam's stinging retort or getting punched. Dean let go and backed away like he couldn't even stand to touch her, while Jo rubbed at her upper arms.

* * *

"Now I'm going to tell you some things, and you're gonna listen," Dean growled. He stayed a few feet away, far enough her proximity had no effect but close enough to be heard. Jo took a breath to fling more bullshit at him but he cut her off. "Just shut the hell up. I will always pick Sam over everyone and everything. Get over it! I love him. He loves me. Period. Have you ever heard of a pregnant man before?" Again, Jo tried to open her mouth but he was having none of it. "Me neither. Of course he's scared! He could die, we don't know. This isn't some stunt to make ourselves... important or some shit. We wouldn't have told anyone at all, except he needs a doctor at the very least. And what did you do with that knowledge?" Dean didn't elaborate on that, only shook his head to say she was totally pathetic. Granted, Jo felt about three inches tall now, but she wasn't giving him the satisfaction. 

"If I can convince Sam, which is going to be next to impossible thanks to you, I want him here for the duration, that's what we'd planned. That means," Dean stared her down, "you'll have to play nice, or have me – not to mention your mother – to answer to."

"I'll... I'll leave, and spare you the hardship. Willingly," Jo told him. "I was going to anyway." 

* * *

After Dean had stormed off, Ellen gave Charlie a hard look. Her man had at least the decency to blush but she knew his views on patient confidentiality and thus didn't take it personally that she hadn't been told. Sam was standing before the table, his complexion slowly turning pale when the rage faded. 

"You, sit," she barked at him. To her – and his, too, obviously – surprise, Sam plopped down on the nearest chair. Angry shouts emanated from somewhere, increasing in volume at an alarming rate. "I was going to say you look after Sam," Ellen addressed Charlie, "but you might want to get your field kit, just in case," she indicated with a nod toward the hallway. "I'll be back."

It took her only a few seconds to find Dean and her daughter in the 'garden', both yelling at each other at the top of their voices, red-faced.

"You're doing no such thing," Ellen stated calmly but with a voice that wouldn't take contradiction when Jo announced she'd leave. "You're going to behave like the adult you keep insisting you are when we return to finish our breakfast. Then we will discuss this – and if you can't get your PMS under control, you'll stay in your room until you can."

She turned to Dean. "You'll talk with Sam. I needn't tell you that him leaving isn't an option _if_ he really is pregnant, which I'm still having a hard time believing, but Charlie doesn't lie to me, so, I'd better get my head wrapped around this," she muttered to herself.

"Do we understand each other? This is a serious situation that won't be solved by either party behaving like a three-year-old. You," she gave Jo another sharp look, "and Sam will keep your 'he said, she said' to yourselves, and you," she directed the stink-eye at Dean, "stop harassing my daughter. If she said what Sam claims she said I'll deal with her myself, I promise," Ellen finished grimly.

"Now let's go before the food turns cold, and not a word from you two." She turned and went back into the Roadhouse, not waiting for Dean and Jo to follow.

* * *

And enter: Ellen. Jo hadn't been able to get another word in edgewise or even take breath before her mother broke them up. Well, she'd been expecting it but had been at least wanted to reiterate that she wasn't the only jerk in the house, if they were going to lay the blame at her doorstep. In Ellen's presence, Jo clammed up and averted her eyes to some point on the distant horizon. She could have predicted to within a word or two what Ellen would say, her standard "quit being a bitch or a toddler" speech or whatever. Blaming it on PMS in front of Dean was humiliating, though. As if men didn't PMS! Jo was sure they in fact, did. Sam, for one, was more than welcome to enter _man_ -o-pause any time.

Without a word, Jo proceeded to the bar and the meal for which she'd entirely lost her appetite. Sitting at the same table as Sam was going to suck even worse. Yeah, she had no business saying the A-word in such a belligerent manner to anyone who was pregnant. Jo could admit that in her own mind, but he was such an asshole! How did anyone, such as midwives and Ob/Gyns, deal with treating pregnant women as a full-time job? Logically, a pregnant male might be even worse; most men were such babies about being sick anyway. 

Nose still totally out of joint, Jo sat down as far from Sam as possible without taking the head or foot and stared at the table top without really seeing anything. Lord help anyone who touched the food before Ellen gave permission. Dean followed her in but sat next to his brother. They were probably holding hands or feeling each other up under the table, for all she knew.

* * *

Jo turned even redder when Ellen burst through the door to crack the proverbial whip, but at least she shut up, which relieved Dean to no end. The younger Harvelle was impossible to convince, if she didn't want to be, even on subjects that had no wiggle room. He didn't much appreciate being lumped in with the other three-year-olds. Even "grown-ups" fought. But once again, he decided it the wiser course not to contradict Ellen. Besides, he was hungry. 

Sam was in the make-shift dining room, which surprised Dean a little, but he sat next to his brother gladly. Since he'd been insisting they leave, Dean had assumed he'd be in their room putting his dirty clothes back on or something, but Sam was physically present, not looking at Jo, who was totally avoiding acknowledging Sam. This meal was going to be stilted and awkward. Dean only hoped Sam didn't start puking again. Boy needed some nutrients. He reached out for the spoon stuck in the eggs only to have Jo slap his hand away and shake her head, cutting her eyes at Ellen, who was pulling up a chair to the head of the table. Jeez, what if she made them say grace? Dean cringed inwardly at the thought. 

* * *

Ellen sat down without further acknowledging Jo or Dean. Charlie was already digging into the toast and fruit, and she reached for the eggs. Only after she'd taken the first bite, she noticed that Sam, Dean, and Jo didn't eat. She shrugged it off at first, but after watching virtual smoke rising from Jo and Dean and Sam slumping unhappily in his chair, she'd had enough. Reaching for a slice of toast, she buttered it and laid it on Sam's plate.

"Eat," she ordered, then watched with grim satisfaction as Sam picked it up and started chewing. The corners of Charlie's mouth twitched, but her man remained silent. Given the loaded atmosphere this was possibly the best choice, but Ellen had never been known for her patience.

"Dean," she said, her voice honey laced with acid as she repeated his earlier words to Sam, "breakfast. Homemade. Sit down and eat, you'll feel better." 

Her daughter was next on the list. "Jo, manners." 

If looks could kill, she'd have been stabbed by three pairs of eyes simultaneously, but at least it looked as if the food wouldn't go to waste. Still, for the moment, she may have forced a cease-fire, didn't mean the war was over.

* * *

"Um... right." Dean felt like an idiot but that was par for the course here. He spooned some eggs onto his plate, grabbed some bacon, swiped two pieces of toast and poured himself some coffee while he waited for Charlie to finish with the hash browns. Stuffing his mouth full, he sighed contentedly and looked over at Sam, who hadn't had more than a bite of the toast Ellen had pushed on him. Dean demolished one of his own pieces in three bites. "C'mon, Sam... 't good! Your body needs fuel," he said with his mouth full, now of bacon, earning himself a glare from Jo, who was across from him. 

Sam shot him a pissy look , which Dean hoped was just pique and not a cover for nausea. "What? I gotta feed you myself?" He speared a slice of ham from the platter – Ellen had certainly gone all out. "Here comes the airplane, Sammy... open wide," he leered, pretending to fly the meat through the air in the direction of Sam's mouth. 

* * *

Until now, Sam had managed to grind his teeth but go along with Ellen's 'orders' in the hope that she, the obvious alpha-person of the household, would find some solution to the situation with Jo. He'd even braved a piece of the toast she'd put on his plate and _not_ choked on it, but Dean treating him like when he'd been a toddler was too much.

"What do you fucking think you're doing?" Sam exploded. He got up from his chair so violently that it clattered down behind him, but he couldn't be bothered by the noise – and the silence that followed it. "Fuck," he pressed out. It was too much. _Everything was too much._ "Fuck!" 

Of course, the earth didn't open up to swallow him like he'd have wanted it to; that only happened when you were _not_ asking for it. Instead, Sam felt a strong grip on his elbow that pulled him away not only from the table but to another room. "Breathe," he heard a male voice order through the noise in his ears. "Drink," came next and he drank obediently, grateful for the cup of cool water. It tasted bitter and he was about to complain when the voice – which must be Charlie's as he was the only other male around – told him it was something for his stomach again. Sam hadn't even noticed that he was close to throwing up the small piece of bread he'd eaten, but he was glad for the medication. "Now sit down and keep breathing."

Following the first order was easy. The second proved to be a bit of a challenge as Sam wanted to speak up and cry out all the indignities he'd suffered, first from Jo, and now Dean had joined the ranks, too, but the look in Charlie's eyes made him remain silent. This was the only person who could help him, and as the rage died down in Sam's mind he knew he shouldn't fight with the man. Still...

"You're going through a rough time," Charlie said. "I cannot relate and neither can anyone else. However, as a doctor, I'm fairly certain that your hormones acting up make you react – overreact – to what you most likely wouldn't even notice otherwise. It doesn't get easier when other people are freaked out by what's happening to you, but you really must calm down."

Sam wanted to evade Charlie's eyes, but apparently Ellen wasn't the only alpha in the household and Sam suddenly found himself too tired to fight.

"We all need to calm down," Charlie continued. "And then we all need to talk. I'm sure Jo didn't mean what she said. She's upset as we all are." He hesitated. "I hear she likes your brother, like, a lot. And Jo's life here isn't easy what with Ellen preventing her from going hunting, which is what she wants more than anything else in her life – please don't tell either of them I said this, I'm rather fond of my balls," he added darkly.

"As for Dean, I could imagine how helpless he must feel. Maybe attempting to feed you airplanes in public wasn't the most subtle approach but I'm sure it worked when you were little – Ellen told me he raised you mostly by himself..."

Charlie sounded insecure, but suddenly Sam had the mental image of eight-year-old Dean feeding him and he smiled for a second before scowling once again. However, Charlie hadn't missed it. The doctor didn't refer to it, though, for which Sam was grateful.

"Why don't you stay here for a little while until things have settled down a bit?" Charlie suggested. "I'll bring you more toast and you just take your time until you feel like facing the evil world again. Meanwhile, I'll see to things on the other side. Consider this room your refuge for the time being. It isn't very homey but there's the exam table if you want to lay down and nobody gets in here without my say-so. Not even Dean," he emphasized.

The last statement made Sam snort. "What did you just say about your balls?" he quipped but he was beginning to feel a little better. Not having his beloved brother and the bitch-daughter of their host fighting about him helped. Besides, Jo had no reason to like him, not after what he'd done to her when they'd met the last time. Suddenly, his eyes widened. Maybe she'd suggested he get rid of the baby because she thought he was possessed – again? And maybe she was right...?

He hung his head. "I..." Hiding out in what must be Charlie's surgery sounded like a good idea. "I appreciate what you're doing," Sam said softly. "Could you please tell Dean, Ellen, and," he swallowed, "Jo that I'm sorry..."

Charlie reassured him that he would tell them. Then he handed Sam another glass of water, without medication this time, and promised he'd be back. Sam, feeling exhausted from the fighting, decided to rest some more. His head hurt, his stomach was queasy, and his emotions were all over the place. Maybe sleeping would be the best, he thought as he rooted around in vain for a comfortable spot on Charlie's exam table. In the end, it didn't matter as sleep overtook him as soon as he'd laid down.

Watching from the door, Charlie closed it behind him when he watched Sam settle down, then he returned to the bar. Nobody seemed to have said a word, which was more or less what Charlie had expected.

"Sam is resting," he announced. "He's sorry for over-reacting and I assured him he isn't the only one. Now, I suggest," he cast a glance at Ellen to see if she objected. When that wasn't the case, Charlie continued, "I suggest we enjoy our meal. Afterwards, we'll talk."

* * *

His attempt at jollying Sam into eating was an utter failure. Sam jumped away from the table, cursing and wild-eyed. Without a clue what to do next, Dean sat like a bump on a log while Charlie calmly hustled Sam away, into one of the back rooms, possibly the same one he'd seen them in the previous night. After that, all Dean could hear was some low murmuring, no more outbursts. Loathe as he was to admit it, Dean might need to take a lesson from the Doc. Sure, treating Sam like a stubborn toddler hadn't been the brightest idea, but his reaction had been... extreme, same as it had been to Jo, regardless of what she'd said. Sam shouldn't be so sensitive... 

Dean barely repressed hysterical laughter when his own thoughts filtered through to his logic. Of course Sam was hyper-sensitive, he had an over-abundance of pregnancy hormones and god only knew what else rampaging through his – male – body. Other than when he'd been on demon blood, Dean had always known what to say or do, to get Sam through a hunt, a loss, a fight, or just life in general. Now, he was floundering, and Dean hated little worse than drowning helplessly in a sea of too many emotions. He needed to get a grip.

The next time Dean looked down with any awareness at his plate, he had scarfed down nearly everything. He wanted more, but before he could ask, Charlie joined them again, saying Sam had cooled off and was resting. His tone made it clear they would all leave Sam alone for now. Dean didn't much like being warned away, however indirectly. Yes, they'd talk, and he would make some things clear, too: Sam was his brother, his partner, and no one except Sam himself had the right to keep him away. 

Later, though. They had to survive this meal first. "You're an awesome cook, Ellen! Thank you... for it. The food. Uh, can I have seconds?" Dean gulped down a glass of orange juice while he waited on Ellen's permission. Fresh-squeezed, even. His body wasn't going to know what to do with so much Vitamin C. "And um, thanks for helping Sam again, Doc," he added. 

* * *

Jo just rolled her eyes – when Ellen wasn't looking. The legendary Dean Winchester, kowtowing to the two rulers of the roost while pointedly ignoring her... but she couldn't really lump her mother and Charlie into the same category. Each was autonomous, though they worked together in their differing functions. 

She wished Ash was back from his super-secret convention. It would be a few days yet. At least he could get away with saying whatever he wanted, allowing Jo a few gleeful moments of living vicariously every once in a while. His country hick bemusedness never pissed people off the way Jo's sarcastic commentary did, even when they said almost the same thing. Dean asked for more to eat but Jo pushed back her plate to signal she'd had enough and folded her arms over her chest. 

* * *

Watching Dean and Jo was like watching an anti-mirror, Ellen thought to herself as Dean asked for more food and Jo pushed her plate away in the same instant. It would have been funny but wasn't, given the preceding fight. How these two could ever be conciliated, she had no clue. Most likely, it wasn't possible at all. Whatever, she'd settle for a truce although it was pretty clear that she'd be the one to enforce it.

Not saying anything seemed the wisest course of action for the time being. Ellen filled Dean's plate again, then watched as Charlie picked up some toast that was probably not for himself. A quick exchange of looks confirmed that he was about to bring it to Sam who was sequestered away in one of the back rooms. Since Charlie hadn't had time to eat, she took the plate from his hand and got up. The look she got in return was both grateful and uneasy, but she didn't care that Sam had obviously been promised privacy. As much as she agreed that he needed it, Charlie's orders were about keeping Dean and Jo away, not depriving him of food.

Sam was sitting on the exam bench. He didn't look up when she entered and his whispered thanks were barely audible, but when she looked back just before closing the door, he had a piece of toast in his hand. Maybe at least one of the three combatants was ready to lay down his arms, however temporarily.

Although she'd only been gone for a minute, Charlie had emptied his plate. It always made her chuckle how fast the man could eat, probably an acquired skill from being used to snarfing down his food in a break between emergencies. Dean seemed done, too, and Jo had already finished eating before. Ellen wondered if she should clear the table before the necessary talk Charlie had announced but decided that the atmosphere was too tense to wait that long. Maybe she should at least take the knives away...

Charlie made the decision for her. "OK," he said. "By now you all know that something impossible is going on here. Sam is about three months with child. I'm still waiting for lab results, but I've seen the fetus. We don't know how it happened," he glared at Jo to make sure she knew that her comments on the act that had led to the conception would not be appreciated.

"There's a lot of tension at this table. Hurt feelings on all sides if I read this right, and we cannot afford to have them dominate. We need to find a strategy how to deal with this." He looked at Dean. "Anything we may think of here is up to Sam to decide, too. Right now, however, I think he needs to rest and calm down. You're all upset even without your hormones running rampant, so Sam joining us here right now would probably not help with rational thinking."

He looked at everyone briefly. "So, one thing is sure, that he needs medical attention, however this may turn out. A normal doctor is out, which leaves me and one colleague that I could call on but I understand that he isn't exactly Dean's first choice. So, if I'm the one to be appointed to the task at hand, that leads to the obvious question, where. And that decision isn't mine to make."

* * *

"Well, we're here... mainly because of the fact that you're here." Dean met Charlie's eyes. "So that's where, if you'll have us, unless you know of somewhere to live around here. But we all know it's bum-fuck Egypt." His gaze swept around to include Ellen, then Jo, who still wouldn't look at him. "We can either stay in our room, although it would make us both totally stir-crazy, or, I propose we do like this morning and earn at least some our keep. I for one have had a thousand part-time jobs since I was like, thirteen."

He sighed. "I dunno how we don't bicker. Take it day, or like, one hour at a time? As long as no one fucks with Sammy or tries to keep us away from each other, I'm cool with whatever arrangement." Now that might be setting himself up for slave labor, but at the moment, they just needed a doctor for Sam. 

* * *

"A day, an hour at the time sounds like a plan," Charlie agreed. "At least until we've determined whether Sam needs constant medical supervision. Whatever made this pregnancy possible – and I'm not talking about a sexual act here," he shot a warning look at Jo, "has hopefully included the possibility of him carrying the baby to term. I suggest observation him for a few days and then see if you two," he nodded towards Dean, "really need to stick around. And even if it turns out that he'd better have a doctor around, you could rent a place in the vicinity until he's nine months."

Charlie had no clue as to how the pregnancy would proceed, but maybe his suggestion would take off some of the pressure.

* * *

"Okay," Ellen spoke up when her man had finished. "You can keep the room for the time being and I'm sure we can find a way how Sam and Dean can make themselves useful around the Roadhouse. That leaves _only_ the question whether our three youngsters can refrain from killing each other as long as they're living under the same roof."

She looked grimly at Jo and Dean. "Jo, Dean, do you think you can bury the hatchet for the time being? I don't expect you to be nice to each other but I wouldn't mind civil behavior from the two of you. If that's possible, I'd suggest Dean then speak to Sam who, hopefully, has cooled off a little by now."

* * *

Dean nodded. Since none of the test results had been returned yet and he'd already asked one too mamany times, he would assume Sam should have a doctor nearby unless or until they were told otherwise. "Agreed. He's not showing at all yet but eventually, he'll probably get as big as a house, he's a big boy to begin with." With limited success, Dean attempted to keep the leer out of his voice. No one would appreciate it, so he barreled on. "Or could be the, er, pregnancy will never show that much, I mean, even an eight-pound baby is tiny compared to... Well, you know." Everyone had heard Dean refer to Sam as 'Sasquatch' before. "But either way, he probably shouldn't be around anyone besides me and you-all when he gets... big. Bigger."

This conversation was too weird. He turned to Jo, who was the main problem at the moment. "I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if you are. You help with patients, right?" Jo's blond head nodded minutely, though she still stared at the table top, her finger absently tracing the wood grain. "We'll probably need you at some point. I mean, you were all ready to help Sam this morning until... whatever that was. Right?" 

* * *

"Yeah. I was. So I suppose if we don't talk about anything but his clinical findings, we can occupy the same building." Jo wasn't exactly being nice, but at least she was being honest. "After this little forum is over, I'll keep my opinions to myself unless directly asked – as long as you two keep the screaming and moaning down." At that, she finally looked up to stare Dean in the eyes. "He's already knocked up. At least have some pity on the rest of us."

* * *

Dean would feel, physically almost, the pain that his and Sam's relationship caused Jo. Besides the fact that she'd had a thing for him for a few years now, she'd been attacked by a demon riding Sam's body and had helped in their cases more than once at risk to her own life. She was invested – in Dean, of course. Sam was just an unfortunate and unwelcome sidekick, in Jo's view. 

Sam being the carrier of Dean's baby made it clear that them being together wasn't something that could be passed off as a phase, a one-time thing, or another piece of emotional baggage to throw into the depths of the box marked "we never talk about this again". At present, the night that Sam had woken up a woman was the only such recent event. All of Jo's hopes of one day being with Dean were dashed upon the proverbial rocks, he could see that in her eyes that she finally got it. He himself had never really told her in plain terms – he'd flirted with her like with any pretty young thing. Stupid, in retrospect, but feeling sorry changed nothing and a blanket apology would be an insult.

For a second, he wished she could see Sam – know and love Sam – like he did. To an outsider, Dean knew his brother came off as aloof and intimidating, other than when he used his dimples and x-ray tractor-beam focus to get what he wanted. It was too bad that the three of them couldn't... 

No, that would never work. They'd be at each other's throats 24/7. "We'll try," he answered finally, then with a wink, "to find something to gag him with." Jo rolled her eyes and muttered, "whatever," but at least she didn't yell at him again. 

"We'll do whatever chores you want, as long as they're not dangerous to Sam's health," Dean confirmed to Ellen. "I know this is an all-hours place, but he needs rest. Me, too," was about as far as he'd go to admitting his own state of exhaustion, although Dean should bounce back in a couple days. "So what do you want done now? Dishes? Stock the bar? Any cars need fixing?" 

* * *

"Good," Ellen nodded. "Now, if Dean can make Sam agree to stay here without going postal we have ourselves a deal, at least temporarily." She wasn't under any illusion that the constellation of Jo and the Winchesters, one of them pregnant, living under one roof for an extended period of time wouldn't eventually lead to an explosion on an open-ended scale.

"As for renting a place nearby even if Sam starts showing," she had to suppress a smile as the concept of the moose Sam growing a big belly was just too ridiculous, "there's always Bobby. Sioux Falls isn't that far away – especially not for a driver with Dean's talents. Bobby is also the only source I can think of that could help you figure out what we're actually dealing with here."

She'd said 'we' on purpose to make sure Dean knew that he and Sam were not alone in this. Clearly, Dean wanted as few people involved as possible, but in addition to the medical component of Sam's pregnancy, they also had to consider the supernatural aspect, and Bobby was not only the person with the deepest insight into these things but also someone the brothers knew and trusted. How far that trust went remained to be seen but Bobby and his home were not an option to be discarded lightly.

* * *

"Once he calms down, Sam will listen to reason," Dean said with more confidence than he felt. Like every Winchester, Sam was pig-headed stubborn and how deeply Jo's cutting diatribe had hurt him remained to be determined. "We came here because of him. And the – our – baby, and he knows it." What Dean implied was that they really had nowhere else to go, but then Ellen brought up Bobby.

Of course, their mentor was absolutely trustworthy and if anyone could dig up some lore on how or why this had happened and what to do for the next few months, it was Bobby. "Yeah, he already looked up some references on that incu-succu-demon thing we were hunting out in Nevada. I just... it's a lot to ask of him to take this on, but then, it's a lot to ask of you, too." Dean looked around the table again. Both Ellen and Charlie's faces remained neutral, although he 'read' that they favored him and Sam not living at the Roadhouse if there was any alternative. 

"I'll have to discuss it with Sam, of course. We stayed with Bobby lots of times, when we were younger. Dad would drop us off for weeks sometimes. Sam might feel more at home there, at least for a while." Being at Bobby's had always felt like a holiday compared to the secrecy and bleakness of life on the road as children of a hunter. Both brothers had attended the local schools off and on over the years, where Sam had made friends and Dean hooked up with a few of the girls. Some familiarity with at least Bobby's house and salvage yard might counterbalance the pressing weight of the ticking time bomb in Sam's belly. He doubted they'd be leaving the yard much, if they did in fact transplant to the Sioux Falls area. If Sam agreed, then there'd be the next step: convincing Bobby.

Since no one had told Dean which chore he should tackle after he'd asked more than once already, he got up from the table. Hazarding a look in Charlie's direction, he told the others, "I'll go talk to him now."

* * *

"And I'll go check if the report on Sam's bloodwork is ready," Charlie announced and left together with Dean. His fax machine was in the surgery where Sam was resting. Although Sam had been sleeping when Dean had left him there, he was up now, sitting on the exam bench, an empty plate next to him. Good. Apparently, he'd managed to eat the toast Ellen had brought him.

Dean entered behind him and Charlie watched Sam's face light up at the sight of his brother. However, it was clear that Dean had no intention of talking to Sam with Charlie present.

There was a sheaf of papers in the fax tray. "Let me just check these," Charlie explained. He could feel the sudden anxiety radiating from Sam and hurried to glance over the results. The numbers were all over the place, but he quickly discovered that Carlisle had sent him two sets of results, one based on female and one on male reference patient values. It was very helpful and it didn't take Charlie long to see that most of the values fell into the healthy range either for a man or a pregnant woman. Only Sam's hemoglobin levels were too low, but compared to what else could have occurred Charlie considered it negligible. A supplement would easily take care of it.

"Good news," he announced. "Considering the circumstances, Sam's lab results are surprisingly normal. Right now, I don't see anything of concern. And with that I'll leave you two to talk."

Charlie nodded at the brothers and went to his and Ellen's bedroom. Although the values weren't alarming he needed to take a closer look at them before any final decision could be made.

* * *

As soon as they were alone in the room, Sam cleared his throat that was still irritated from vomiting. 

"So? What's the verdict?"

* * *

Sam's insistence on eating healthy and getting vigorous exercise – other than hunting and sex – must be paying off. Dean had been expecting an explosive reaction from Charlie and everything possible being fucked up about Sam's bloodwork followed by orders of months of bed rest, but it wasn't so. Kind of anti-climactic, Dean thought, but at least they didn't have to worry as much, for now. His brother, too, looked somewhat more at ease. 

It was up to Dean to introduce their next potential destination. "The verdict? Well, the Doc just gave you one. You're OK as long as you're not puking.As for everything else, they'd probably let us stay – grudgingly – if your health was in dire straits. But the Harvelles want us out of their hair for a while. So, we should call Bobby." Watching Sam's face, Dean summarized the reasons. "He knows us, we've stayed there before, it's not that far from here, and if anyone can figure out what happened..." he gestured at Sam's belly, "Bobby can." 

Sam seemed either ambivalent or too tired to argue. Stepping closer to where Sam sat on the exam table, Dean laid a hand on his brother's upper arm, giving it a quick squeeze. "I'll do it, unless you have any objection. Probably best to keep you and Jo separated." He didn't mention that the same applied to himself and Jo. Dean had never seen her give in to her anger like that, and it didn't promote a good environment for any of them. 

* * *

"Dean..." Sam swallowed. There was a big lump in his throat. "Whatever the labs say... I've never felt as far from normal as I feel right now." He laughed bitterly. "You've seen me. All over the place. I'm a fucking girl."

He drew a deep breath. "Bobby sounds... like a plan. Not that I want any more folks finding out about what... happened. Especially Bobby, but..."

Bobby was the closest to a father he and Dean had, which made him the last person on Earth Sam wanted to find out about his sexual relationship with Dean. However, as his brother had pointed out, Bobby was also one of the very few people who might actually help them figure out what the hell was going on with him. Besides, he didn't want to spend another minute under the same roof as Jo.

"I agree. I think we should go stay with Bobby."

* * *

"Yeah, Sammy... if he'll have us." Dean didn't really doubt that Bobby would let them crash at his place for a while, provided he'd pick up the phone to give permission. They'd talked to him just days ago, but one never knew when a hunt would call him away for a day, a week, or longer. Kind of like themselves, only they had no home base to return to. Their plans for staying with the Harvelle crew had abruptly changed – there wasn't much they could do besides roll with it.

"Haven't I always said you're girl?" Dean asked not-so-innocently, bumping Sam's shoulder with his. "I love you anyway, no matter what the labs say, or whatever happens. I promise... it'll be alright." He would make it so, by force of will or or he'd kill anything in their path or he'd sell his unworthy soul again, whatever it took so Sam would survive. "I promise," he repeated fiercely. Facing his brother, Dean nudged his way between Sam's legs where he was still sitting slumped morosely on the exam table and took him in his arms. He needed comfort as much as Sam, but he gave what he could with the warmth of his body and the strength of his embrace. 

* * *

Dean's shoulder-bump almost made Sam cry again. It was such an expression not only of his love but also of accepting the mess that Sam was. While he was still fighting against new tears, Sam felt himself swept into a fierce embrace. He let himself fall forward against Dean's firm chest so that his head came to rest on his brother's shoulder. Dean's strong arms held him close and Sam felt warm, inhaling the scent he'd always, since his early childhood, associated with being safe.

This was where he wanted to stay for the remainder of his life. It was, of course, impossible, but for the time being Sam sniffed once and let himself be held.


End file.
